


Lessons in Music and Love

by fedupwithfairytales



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Angst, Drunk Texting, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Musicians, Slow Burn, finding hope, i'm not afraid to hurt the reader
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-17
Updated: 2018-07-24
Packaged: 2019-06-12 05:49:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 27,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15333171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fedupwithfairytales/pseuds/fedupwithfairytales
Summary: When Killian Jones, teacher, receives a drunk text from Emma Swan, aspiring musician, he discovers that even he still has a few lessons to learn about life and maybe even love.





	1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

 **Unknown** : come n get me. at the Rabbit Hole. assholes took my keys.  
**KJ** : I'm sorry who is this?  
**Unknown** : ha ha. Very funny david just gt off ur ass and come pik me up.  
**KJ** : I'm afraid you have the wrong number.  
**Unknown** : i think i no your number. it appears i'm unfit to drive so u or Mary Margaret need 2 get here.  
**KJ** :...  
Unknown: plz  
**KJ** :...  
**Unknown** : fine. let my kid find out from teh cops why i didn't come home…  
**Unknown** : what if I get murdered?  
**Unknown** : lil lady all by herself  
**Unknown** : Davvvviiiddd  
**Unknown** : dave dave dave dave  
**KJ** : Goddamnit. The Rabbit Hole you say? I'm coming. Just stop texting me.  
**Unknown** : aye aye cap'n

Killian Jones knew nothing good would come from leaving his home at 1 am, but if it would get the drunkard to stop messaging him then he would do anything to finally get some rest. Sleep had a difficult time finding him these past few weeks. There were many changes that had happened in his life: new job, new home, new lady… but he could see the finish line. He had finally finished his monthly plans and was about to head to bed when his phone went off. It was as if the universe didn't want him to get the sleep he deserved, but he didn't believe in cosmic interference. He did, however, believe in the power of alcohol.

After a fairly long drive—fueled by anger and espresso—Killian found himself outside the bar of ill repute. He had never been before, but one glance assured him that its reputation—a total of 3 Yelp reviews—was true. A group of bikers stared him down as he pulled up to the front of the bar, most likely wondering what a man in a Prius would be doing at such an establishment. It didn't help that he was wearing flannel pyjama bottoms. Killian made sure not to look them in the eyes as he drove by. There was a day when he would have gladly stared them down, rearing for a fight, but he had grown tired of that person and now avoided conflict at all cost. He instead let his eyes search for the woman who had harassed him through text.

Much to his surprise, the drunkard ended up being an attractive, young blonde who wore dangerously high heels. She stood outside the bar wearing a red, leather jacket with black tights. On an autumn night such as this one, she must have been freezing, but she showed no sign, undoubtedly due to the alcohol running through her veins. Her beanie was the only sensible thing she was wearing, although he was sure it provided minimal protection against the bitter wind. With a sigh, Killian pulled up beside her and rolled down the window.

"I take it you're the one who texted me," he stated. His English accent did not escape her. "I'm your designated driver tonight."

"A Brit. Sweet." The woman picked up a guitar case and went to the back of the car, nearly tripping over her own feet as she did so. She tapped on the glass. "Open up so I can slide this in the back."

He did as she said and in seconds she slid into the passenger seat. Her face was flushed from the cold, her eyes heavy from the alcohol. Despite being in the presence of a complete stranger, the woman showed no signs of unease. Killian wondered if this was a common occurrence for her—getting into the cars of strange men. So much for being the damsel in distress she had claimed to be.

The first thing she noticed was how attractive he was. His dark brown hair was mussed up from the day and he was wearing an old white t-shirt over his pyjama bottoms, but he was still devilishly handsome. She wondered what he would have looked like dressed up...or maybe even dressed down. She smirked at the thought.

"That took you long enough," she said as she buckled in. Her slurred words proved that she was in no condition to drive and Killian was happy that she wasn't behind a wheel. "You friends with David?"

The young blonde—and she was young, no more than 30 if he had to guess—kicked her feet onto the dashboard. It seemed she also had a habit of making herself at home.

"I don't know who that person is," Killian replied flatly. He gently pushed her feet off the dash. "But I got your text—or texts rather—so just tell me where to go so I can get home and sleep."

The woman frowned. "How do I know you're not gonna kill me?"

He stared at her with a raised eyebrow. "Would I have waited this long?"

"Touché." She kicked her feet back onto the dashboard. "Granny's diner on the edge of town."

Killian pushed her feet off once more and mumbled to himself. "Edge of town. Great. And on a school night." He typed in the address on his GPS.

"School night?" She looked him over. His soft, blue eyes, did nothing to hide his 30 some years behind them. "Aren't you a little old for school, mister…?"

"Jones. Killian Jones. And it's not absurd when you're a teacher."

He pulled away from the curb and started his drive, glad to finally be moving on with this strange night. At least half an hour there and another back, he calculated. He would definitely regret this.

"I'm Emma Swan," the woman said as she reclined the seat, "but you've probably heard of me already. I'm a very popular musician you know. Interesting that a teacher would be up this late, but I guess I'm just a lucky woman. Although, I guess I could have bunked with the gang back there. Ted's a pretty cool guy."

"I wish you would have."

"Well that's just rude." Emma feigned offense. "Not my fault you stole my friend's phone."

"I didn't steal anything," he stated matter-of-factly. "I simply bought a new phone and was given this number. Perhaps your friend got a new phone as well."

Emma found herself pleasantly intrigued by the man behind the wheel. She could tell he was annoyed but not many people would have been as collected as he was in this situation. She pictured him putting that trait to use in a classroom. She supposed the whole teacher thing made sense—he had the grumpiness down at least. Certainly, she wouldn't want him as a teacher. On second thought, he was gorgeous and would have definitely given her teenage-self something to look forward to every day. Emma had every intention to ask more about him and his job but the car was so warm and she suddenly found herself feeling the need to close her eyes for a second...

"Miss?" Killian gently shook the stranger's shoulder. "Miss, wake up would you?"

Emma groaned. "5 more minutes."

"No way are you sleeping in my car. We're here so you should get back home to your son."

"My son?" Emma yawned. "Oh ya. He better be sleeping or else he's going to get a stern talking to."

"I think all you're going to be giving him is resentment towards you when he sees you walking in like this."

"Pfft what are you, a child psychologist?"

Trying not to roll his eyes, Killian climbed out of the car. He ran around to the passenger side to open the door, hoping this would help speed the process along. Dear lord was it cold out.

Emma patted her pockets. "Well looks like I forgot to nab the house key."

This time, Killian couldn't prevent himself from rolling his eyes. "Of course you did. Can you call someone?"

"Nah. I don't want to create _more_ resentment towards me."

"Well I don't see how you're going to get inside without a key."

"There's always a way," she said with a wink as she pulled out a hairpin. She turned to step out of the car when she was met with resistance. "Hey what's the big idea? Unhand me!"

Killian sighed and reached down to unbuckle her seat belt. As he did, the woman grabbed his arm and pulled him closer.

"You're very handsome you know that?" A giggles escaped her. "My hero."

"I'm flattered," he murmured as he shrugged her off. "Now let me just..."

Click.

Killian undid the seat belt and helped Emma up. Trying to ignore the cold wind on his back, he walked her to the door of the diner. "Now you have a good night okay, Ms. Swan?"

"Sure thing, boss."

Killian sighed and returned to his car. "And Ms. Swan?" he shouted from beside the car door. "Please don't text me again."

She gave him a salute and laughed. Killian watched as she walked towards the diner's side entrance and struggled with the lock. He didn't drive away until she had disappeared inside.


	2. Chapter 2

When Emma Swan awoke that morning, her head pounded to the beat of a song yet to be written. With eyes closed shut, she reached for the aspirin she kept by her bedside only to hear it fall and rattle as it rolled away. It belonged to the dust bunnies under the bed now. She groaned, the noise only making her head pound more. She wished she could say she regretted drinking last night, but she didn't. The look on the faces of her boyfriend's coworkers was priceless. Emma easily outdrank the lot of them and that sense of satisfaction washed away any feeling of regret she could have.

After a few painful minutes hiding under the covers, Emma dared a look at her phone hoping she could bear the brightness. Drinking the guys under the table wasn't the only thing she was beginning to recall: she had also remembered a random, man picking her up from the bar after her boyfriend drove his friends home. Had she really hopped into a stranger's car? She squished her face into her pillow. Emma Swan may not have any regrets, but she was far from free of feeling shame. She figured the stranger deserved some gratitude for having to have put up with her last night.

 **ES** : hey i wanted to say thanks for coming to get me last night  
**KJ** : Don't mention it.  
**ES** : not a lot of people would do that. i owe u.  
**KJ** : Really. Don't mention it.  
**ES** : ur not very talkative are u? When u said don't text i guess u meant it...or at least that's what i think u said.

It was 7:50 am and Killian was just finishing his first cup of coffee—black. He needed to be at work in 20 minutes and had slept in due to his late night escapades. He hadn't even had time for breakfast—unless he wanted to risk losing his job over a piece of toast. The texts he was receiving only added to his delay. He tried his best not to seem rude but he really was in a hurry and would rather not befriend the drunken woman he had 'rescued' the night before.

Killian shoved his phone in his pocket and nearly ran to his car from his flat in a futile attempt to recover his lost time. Throwing his briefcase onto the back seat, he was surprised to see it bounce off an object that shouldn't have been there and fall out and onto the cold concrete. There on the back seat of his car was a guitar. He ran his hands through his hair.

"Bloody hell," he cursed. "You have got to be shitting me."

 **KJ** : I have your guitar.  
**ES** : oh shit! i was wondering where that was  
**KJ** : I am on my way to work now, but we can discuss later on how I can return it to you.  
**ES** : I gotta get my car eventually. where do u work? i can swing by and get it. don't want u to have to come down to the edge of town again.  
**KJ** : No offense Ms. Swan, but I rather not divulge that information. It wouldn't be wise to invite a strange woman to a place filled with impressionable children.  
**ES:** haha…im not some sort of creep but whatever. where would u like to meet then Mr. English?  
**KJ:** It's Mr. Jones and as I said, we will discuss this this afternoon. I am terribly late.  
**ES** : u should work on ur time management

Emma had meant it as a joke but she received no reply. Either he actually was late or he wasn't amused by her teasing. From what she remembered he did seem to have some sort of stick up his ass. She supposed it came with the territory when you were English in America. She updated his contact information to replace David's name and sent a text to her friend Mary Margaret.

 **ES:** Wild story for u  
**MM:** I'm all ears  
**ES:**  Well first of all…why did no one tell me dave got a new phone

To say that Emma had a productive day would be a complete lie. After her conversation with Mary Margaret, she spent a solid 30 minutes of brainstorming new material only to find that the absence of her instrument had led to an absence of creativity. Emma had never been able to write music without a guitar in hand. If there was no music, there were no words, and no amount of experience had ever managed to change that. On occasion, humming would do the trick, but her brain was still too foggy from the night before.

Deciding that day-time television was too trashy even for her, she headed downstairs to Granny's for a quick bite in the hopes that some grease would unlock her artistic expression. Much to her dismay, the grilled cheese sandwich and onion rings, although delicious and perfect for curing her hangover, had no effect on her ability to write.

Eventually, Emma gave up and figured she would go and retrieve her car. She sent a silent prayer to nobody that it hadn't been towed. She wasn't one to pay her tickets and Officer Graham could only look the other way so many times. After last night, she was sure his cop buddies would take great pleasure in impounding her vehicle out of sheer pettiness. Graham had wasted many hours trying to convince her to come to the station, or at the very least to write him a cheque for what she owed. Emma smiled at the thought of her boyfriend trying to get her to pay her dues. He was convinced that she would become a thriving member of society, but she had no plans on joining him anytime soon. 'Emma Swan: Citizen of the Month'. She laughed as the bus pulled up to her stop and she made her way to The Rabbit's Hole.

 _Ring_.

"Alright class, have a great day and please, don't forget to read chapter 6 for tomorrow."

Killian pulled on his coat and said goodbye to his students one-by-one, dismissing them each with a high-five. It was his turn on supervision and a quick glance outside showed a long line of eager parents waiting to pick up their child and save them from a walk in the unforgiving cold. From the looks of the clouds, it seemed that rain wouldn't be too far off either. He slipped on his leather gloves and walked outside.

"Hey, Mr. Jones."

"Hello Mr. Jones. Nice to see you."

"Why, Mr. Jones, don't you look handsome as usual."

Single mothers waved eagerly to Killian, showering him with greetings and compliments. It was a routine to which he had since been accustomed after a few short months of teaching at Castlespire Elementary. He politely waved back and turned his attention to the kids boarding the bus. One at a time, the children hopped up the steps as fast as they could, eager to get away from school and back home to their family. The momentum was soon broken by a young girl, Violet Morgan, if he remembered correctly, who had dropped her bag at the foot of the stairs. As he went to gather her belongings, his phone buzzed. He paid it little attention as he helped Violet up the steps, but the device would not be ignored. He didn't know who would be bothering him at this time, but he had his suspicions.

As the last student boarded the bus, a long horn sounded behind him. What lonely, bored housewife was trying to get his attention this time? Killian turned towards the source of the sound to find a yellow Volkswagen Bug pulling up beside him. It came to a stop. A familiar blonde stepped out and smiled widely.

"What are the odds, huh?" Emma said as she approached him. Her grin never left her face. "I was trying to text you, but it looks like you're too much of a professional to answer your phone."

Much unlike Emma, Killian was frowning deeply. He looked around suspiciously, convinced that this was some sort of joke. "How did you find me?"

Emma laughed at his paranoia. "I'm not stalking you if that's what you were thinking. My son goes here."

"Your son is real?" Killian had thought it all a ruse last night in order to provoke a sense of urgency in him. There must have been a dozen primary schools in the area, but here she was in front of him, threatening to ruin yet another day. As if the weather wasn't bad enough. He took another look at her car and couldn't help but wonder how had someone like her had afforded to send a child to a private school such as this one.

"You're funny Craig."

"It's Kill—"

"And look, there he is now." Emma leaned to the side to get a better look at her 11 year old son emerging from the front doors.

"Mom!"

Killian turned to find little Henry Cassidy running up to them, his red and white scarf billowing behind him. Henry attacked his mother with a hug.

"Hey, kiddo. How was your day?"

"It was awesome! I got to feed the class guinea pig, I got perfect on the math test and…" he trailed off when he saw Killian standing there. "Mom, why are you talking to my teacher? I didn't do something wrong did I, Mr. Jones?"

His teacher? Emma was surprised to say the least, but she held her tongue lest she draw any attention to their previous meeting. The last thing she needed was her son to find out that his mother spent the night getting hammered at the bar. "Not at all," she replied without missing a beat. "We were actually talking about how great you are." She chuckled and patted Henry on the head.

"Mr. Jones picked my story to be used for the class play!"

Emma dared a glance at Killian. For once, a little regret had started to creep up inside her. She was already walking on thin ice with her custody agreement and hoped he wouldn't go to child protective services and tell them she was unfit to be Henry's mother after what he had seen last night.

Fortunately, that was the last thing on Killian's mind. He had a much more difficult time preventing his thoughts from appearing on his face. He was visibly shaken at this turn of events. He hadn't realized how much time had passed until he saw the quizzical look on Henry's face. He blinked. "Yes, your son has a knack for writing. If he keeps it up, he could be a very great author one day."

"I guess talent runs in the family," Emma said proudly.

Henry beamed and turned back to his mom. "Where's dad today?"

Emma continued to smile, succeeding yet again at hiding a frown. "Your old man is out of town for work so you get to stay with me for the next little while."

"Yes! I can't wait to show you my new game."

While Henry babbled on about his new video game, Killian had finally pieced together why he had never seen this woman before. Neal Cassidy had, without fail, sent a nanny every day to pick up Henry from school. At first he thought it was Henry's mother, but her smile had been devoid of all love a mother usually would express upon seeing her child, much like the love he could almost feel radiating from Emma Swan. Indeed, looking at her now, it made him feel foolish to think anyone else could be Henry's mother. Although, he took after his father in many ways, he could see Emma in Henry's smile and confident attitude.

When Killian tuned back into the conversation, he saw Henry scurrying into the car. Killian couldn't help but think about how old and unreliable it was. What would the other parents say when they saw their child's classmate getting into that death trap? He looked around to see their reactions but many parents had already left the parking lot. It was suddenly just the two of them. He focussed his eyes back on Emma. Judging by the look on her face, he realized that she must have asked him a question.

"So my guitar?"

Killian pulled his keys out of his pocket and sighed. He put up a finger and walked off to retrieve the last reminder of that night. When he handed the guitar to her, she smiled softly, thankful to finally have her old friend back.

"What a life saver. You don't know how hard it is to be a musician with no instrument."

"I know the struggle all too well," Killian responded with a far off look in his eyes.

Before she could ask what he meant, Henry honked the horn. "Well I guess he's tired of waiting." Emma retreated to her car, walking backwards as she spoke. "Thanks for this. And don't worry, you won't be hearing from me again."


	3. Chapter 3

'Castlespire Preparatory School welcomes you to Parent-Teacher night' a yellow banner read over the front doors of the private school. Emma couldn't help but wonder what Killian Jones' face would look like when he saw her for a third time in less than a week. Her imagination could have never prepared her for the look of shear confusion and annoyance on the teacher's face. His face contorted in ways she never thought were possible. She could see his teeth clench as she opened the door to Henry's classroom.

"Ms. Swan," he greeted with a forced smile. "I didn't expect to see you again so soon."

Emma pulled up a chair and smirked. "Neither did I, but with the ex in New York, someone's gotta check in. I only wish he would have told me about this when we spoke on the phone last week."

Killian didn't understand why this woman got under his skin. She hadn't technically done anything wrong—her drunken text was just a mistake after all, but as she sat there in front of him, leaning back precariously in her chair, he couldn't help but be put off. Henry Mills was an extraordinary student with many gifts. He was well behaved, well put together and well…nothing like this Emma Swan character who had arrived late to their meeting wearing a simple leather jacket and ripped jeans, completely disregarding the fact that she was in a distinguished prep school that prided itself on its respectable comportment. Indeed, it seemed to Killian that she was the type of person to take things far too lightly and—was that gum that she was chewing? He clenched his fist.

Completely unaware of Killian's silent critique, Emma took a look around her, conducting a critique of her own. The walls were surprisingly bare for an elementary classroom. She remembered her own days at school—or rather  _schools_  as she had bounced between so many she had lost count. Those classrooms were always covered wall-to-wall in horrible student art and cheesy motivational posters, but this room looked more like a child prison—minus the bars on the windows with which she had been familiar.

"So what do you teach?" Emma asked, breaking the silence.

"You don't know?" Although he asked the question, Killian was somehow not surprised that Emma didn't know what he taught. She hadn't even known his name. Her cavalier attitude seemingly knew no bounds.

"Well Henry's father was the one to enroll him in this school. I wasn't part of the process so I don't know much about this  _fine_  establishment. To be honest, I never would have sent my son to this kind of place but it was Neal's father's advice. He owns a chain of pawn shops so he has the cash to spare, but I think he gets his money elsewhere if you know what I mean. Anyway, he thought it best to put Henry in a private school. Either to keep up appearances or to keep him away from mobsters. Who knows? Since I wasn't living with them and we have an iffy custody agreement, I didn't get much say. Don't see the kid that much so how would I know about his teachers?"

She had said this all rather quickly and rather defensively. Killian could see a look of embarrassment cross her face as she spoke. Emma hadn't wanted to divulge all that. She hadn't been one prone to verbal diarrhea. Somehow, with Killian she found herself finding the need to explain her actions and lifestyle choices.

Killian looked away as she spoke those last words. He felt the sting of them so strongly that he flushed. It was hard not to feel guilty for his thoughts before and for the condescending tone he had taken with her. He didn't take much notice to Henry's grandfather's shady past. He was more curious as to what this 'iffy custody agreement' was but decided to look past it. It was clearly a sore spot for the woman and he had already done enough damage even having her bring it up once. "English and history mostly," he stated simply and Emma was thankful that he didn't pry.

"Sounds kind of boring if you ask me, but the kid likes that kind of stuff. I was never much of a school person if you couldn't tell."

"Well you'll find, Ms. Swan, that that doesn't really matter. More often that naught, our parents just provide us with our faces, not so much our intellect. Henry, as you may already know, is a very bright child. Just the other day he—"

_I like big butts and I cannot lie._

Killian jumped at the sudden interruption. He didn't have to wonder where it had come from. No sooner than the first words of 'Baby got back' had begun, Emma dug into her pocket and fished out her phone. She let her chair fall forward and held up a finger to Killian whose face began to turn red, this time with anger.

"By all means," he muttered under his breath.

They were finally making progress with their conversation. Killian had dedicated many hours to ensuring he had unique and thoughtful comments to share with parents for when this night came. Report cards, tests and samples of Henry's work had been laid out on the desk, ready to be discussed, but it was all in vain. He looked at Emma with bewilderment as she spoke in hush tones. Her face took on a variety of expressions before it finally settled on a mix of stress and panic—the first time he had ever seen her don a look of anything but mischief.

"I'm sorry Colin," Emma said as she stood up. "Last minute set change and I need to be at the bar in 10."

"It's Killian—"

"Listen I know how this looks. Like I couldn't care less about my son, but these gigs are what's paying the rent and are the only way I can still see Henry. Just, I don't know, call me? Or better yet come by The Rabbit's Hole after you're done here and we'll chat. I'll even buy you a drink."

"Ms. Swan, I don't think that's a good idea."

"No it'll be fun. I want to know all about that play Henry wrote and how he's doing in his classes. I love that kid to death, but I just can't let this gig go."

Killian dropped his head into his hands. He looked up and into Emma's pleading green eyes. She looked so desperate he couldn't help but agree. He nodded towards the door. Emma grabbed his hand with both of hers and shook it rather wildly before sprinting out the door, leaving him to wonder what he had done in his life to deserve this.

An hour later, Killian pulled up to the bar. Despite his better judgment, and with a little persuading from his girlfriend, he found himself chasing after Emma Swan yet again. When they entered the bar arm-in-arm, they instantly realized they were overdressed. Having both just come from work, their business casual attire made them stick out like a sore thumb. It seemed that there were a hundred Emma Swans around him: leather, plaid, and no sense of direction.

The couple took a spot at the bar and turned their attention to Emma's band consisting of all of three people. Behind a set of drums sat a woman with short black hair and fair skin. Her lips were blood red, as were the sticks she held in her hand. As she beat along on her drums, her eyes never wavered from the man standing next to Emma. The bass player, with golden brown hair and a studded, leather jacket that put Emma's to shame was singing back up. Between his parts, he also looked back at the woman behind him, but only briefly before returning his glance to his finger placement. His stage presence was lacking but he played well.

The real star was Emma Swan. Her outfit, that had once been so out of place only an hour earlier, now worked so perfectly in this place. Anyone could tell that she was the lead in the band. From the way she sang to the way she played, it was easy to get swept away in the performance. Killian had never been one for alternative rock music, but found himself tapping his foot to the rhythm. He couldn't stop himself if he tried. He didn't want to—a fact that surprised him as much as Emma's singing.

Unlike her character, Emma's voice was sweet and alluring. He found himself hanging on every word. If you asked him after the show what the song was about, he'd find himself unable to explain. All he knew was that he felt the song within him, as if it was an emotion and not just words strung along to a melody. She was lit up on centre stage, her golden hair shining like a halo around her and he began to forget why he was ever angry with her in the first place. He was so captured by the melody that he didn't realize his girlfriend was calling his name.

"Killian, come back down to Earth."

He blinked and took back in his surroundings. "Oh sorry, love. What did you say?"

"Do you want something to drink?"

"None for me."

"Suit yourself." She turned to the bartender. "One appletini if you can."

The bartender laughed, earning him a glare. He pulled out a glass and filled it with whiskey. "Enjoy, princess."

At that moment, the music had stopped. Killian found himself clapping along with the crowd, his eyes meeting Emma's from across the bar. She smiled and he returned it as she made her way over only to be stopped by a man who pulled her into his arms. Killian stood up, ready to make his way to her and put an end to any funny business, but the two were soon embracing. He looked away quickly as if intruding on a special moment.

Emma and the man joined the couple soon after that. "Hey, Ken. Nice of you to show up. I hope you enjoyed the show."

Killian sighed. Was she doing this on purpose now? "Well we just caught the end, but I didn't quite hate it."

"I'm glad." She gestured to the man she had just kissed. He stood a few inches taller than Killian and had a beard that put his mere shadow to shame. Emma had her hand on his back, playing absentmindedly with his curls. She beamed up at him. "This is Graham Humbert. He's my favourite groupie."

"It comes with the job as boyfriend," he laughed and picked up the beer the bartender had slid across the counter to him.

Killian took note of the badge at Graham's waist. "A cop, huh?" Killian was impressed. He found it rather unrealistic that Emma could be Emma with such an upstanding citizen as her boyfriend. Killian gestured to the woman beside him. "This is Regina Mills."

"Pleased to meet you Ms. Swan, Officer Humbert." Regina held out a hand.

Emma finally took notice of the woman in the pant suit beside Killian. Her red blouse was a bold choice, and Emma thought it was definitely a power move. Despite the look of displeasure on Regina's face, she was very pretty, and her stature made Emma think to never get into a fight with her. She shook her hand. Firm. Professional. Definitely a good match for Killian.

"And what is it you do, Regina?" Graham asked. He took a sip of his beer.

"I'm the principal at Castlespire Preparatory."

Emma's head whipped towards Killian. He was dating the principal? She didn't care much what people did in their free time, but she knew that that sort of relationship wasn't one to usually be widely accepted.

"That sounds very interesting. Isn't that where Henry goes?" Graham followed Emma's eyes to Killian. He looked between the teacher and Regina. Understanding filled his eyes. He smiled meekly. "Speaking of which, should we let Killian and Emma finish their little interview? I'd love to know more about your job."

Graham planted a kiss on Emma's head and made his way over to Regina, beer in hand. They quickly took to their own conversation, leaving Killian to shower Henry with praise about his academics. Emma was happy to hear her son was doing so well. She had no idea. Report cards and progress reports were never sent her way. She doubted the school even had her number on file.

Emma found that in this casual setting, it was much easier to be around Killian. Despite not having had a single drink, he had begun to speak more freely, and the tension that often radiated through his body seemed to have disappeared. She was about to apologize for dragging Killian along in her mess of a life when she heard a crash behind her.

"David!" a female voice screamed.

She spun around to see a crowd forming near the stage. Mary Margaret jumped off the stage to where her boyfriend, David, had just fallen. Emma ran over and pushed her way through the throng of drunken bikers. Once at the front she saw a man was helping him up. She noticed David holding his wrist, a grimace on his face.

"What happened?" she asked. She took David from the man and guided him to a chair.

"David was trying to carry the amp without any help, like an idiot," replied Mary Margaret. "He tripped over the cord."

"I'm fine," David sputtered.

"Don't be stupid," his girlfriend barked. "Look at your hand. It's all twisted up."

Emma looked closer to see that his wrist was bent out of shape. Her stomach flipped. Horror movies were one thing, but seeing a broken wrist in real life was another. Luckily Graham had noticed the commotion and came by, blocking her line of sight to the injury. He pulled out his phone and called 9-1-1.

When the ambulance finally came, Emma was left standing at the curb with Killian and Regina. Mary Margaret had decided to ride with David to the hospital and Graham was inside talking with the bar's patrons to see if there were any signs of foul play. Even though it was clear what had happened, Graham always covered all his bases.  _When we're all being made to look one way, we never notice what's coming from the other side,_  he told her once.

Emma kicked at the sidewalk and let out a breath. A cloud hung for a moment in the air in front of her. She knew David was going to be find, but her on the other hand? It looked like her luck had finally run out. How was she going to pay the bills now? "Well there goes our bassist."  _And my kid_ , she thought.

"Well if you need someone who can play guitar," Regina said, "Killian used to play. I'm sure he would be delighted to stand in."

Emma spun around so fast, she almost lost her balance. "Really? That would be amazing. We would pay you and everything." At a discounted rate of course.

Killian flashed Regina a dangerous look. He was already busy with his new job and couldn't spare to lose more of his much needed prep time. He was about to object to his girlfriend's attempt at volunteering him to help when he took in the woman before him. Not just seconds ago, she looked as if she was given a death sentence, but the mere mention of his past experience with the guitar had set her eyes aflame with hope. She stared at him wide-eyed, waiting. He cursed to himself and said through gritted teeth, "It would be a pleasure."


	4. Chapter 4

With their first show in 2 weeks, Emma couldn't wait to begin practicing with Killian. She was excited to see just what kind of talent he had. Regina had spent a long time after David had been whisked off talking about Killian and how he excelled at everything he did. Killian, however, had stayed quiet the entire time. Try as he may to appear modest, Regina was a force to be reckoned with and made a very convincing argument in her boyfriend's favour. Emma supposed it was part of the job as principal to talk a big game in order to get more students enrolled in the school. Who knew the same tactics worked with significant others?

Emma met Killian at the school auditorium the next day. To say she was excited would be an understatement. With her trusty guitar finally back in her care, Emma was able to release the music she had been holding in. Her arms were full of scrap paper covered in lyrics and her own version of musical notation. It would have been helpful if her notation involved letters or notes, but Emma hadn't had any formal training. She could never understand those symbols and instead, she devised her own code when she was in high school.

Emma sat Henry down at a makeshift table to finish his homework. She proceeded to empty her treasured music from her arms and onto the stage floor at Killian's feet. He picked up a piece of paper and squinted. He turned the sheets at different angles and still could not understand what he was seeing. How could he be sure a human wrote this and not some animal? Over time, Mary Margaret and David had learned to decipher the strange writing. Killian however, gawked at the scribbles. Contrary to Emma, Killian had spent hours on end studying music ever since he was a child. Although it had been many years since those days, he could never forget the way each symbol sounded, each note jumping from the page and into his mind as clear as if he had played it aloud.

"Don't worry," Emma said as she rested a hand on Killian's shoulder, "it'll get easier to understand as we go."

"Somehow I doubt that," Killian muttered under his breath.

Emma picked up his bass by the fret. She stuck her chin up and with a horrible English accent began to knight him with the body of the guitar . "I, Emma Swan, do knight you Calvin—I mean Killian—Jones, newest member of Operation Mongoose."

"Operation Mongoose?"

"It's the name of the band. I let Henry name us. He's got a knack for these things."

Killian was about to make a sarcastic comment when he caught sight of Henry staring at them. A big, proud grin was plastered on his face. Killian held his tongue.

"Okay so Operation Mongoose it is."

"First thing's first," Emma began, "tell me how you learned to play."

Killian sighed. "And this is important how?"

"It's not. I'm just curious." Emma pulled up a stool and sat. Arms crossed, she waited.

"My father taught me how to play the piano as a child, but I thought it boring. The guitar on the other hand, was more freeing to play. The moment I picked one up I couldn't put it down. I was actually part of a band for the most part of secondary school."

"Are you saying you were actually cool?" Emma smirked.

"Aye, I guess I was. Leather and all." He decided to leave out the fact that he had sported a red mohawk for that entire phase of his life. Killian smiled at the memory.

It was the first genuine emotion Emma had seen on him. She didn't think his emotions ranged beyond a polite smile and pure annoyance. She decided that she liked his smile and hoped she would see more of it.  _And maybe even some of that leather_ , she silently wished.

"Maybe we would have been friends in school. Or rival bands!" Emma laughed as Killian rolled his eyes. "So why'd you give up the lifestyle?"

The light went out on Killian's face. "There was a boating accident. We had gotten caught in a storm and the boat began to capsize. A crate smashed my hand in really good. Snapped the wrist clean. Broke all my fingers too. Most painful experience of my life, but my brother managed to push the crate off before the boat sank. I can still play. It's just not the same as it used to be."

"That's horrible. Good thing your brother was there to get you out. Were you the only one hurt?"  
"I guess you could say that." Killian didn't offer any more information. He picked up the guitar and rested it on his knee. "So are you going to tell me what all this chicken scratch means?"

* * *

Killian and Emma continued to practice nearly every day for those two weeks. Emma had learned that if she steered clear of any personal questions, Killian would be a much better partner to be around. And he was. He learned her songs in a matter of a few days, an old skill from the golden days. Every note found a place in his memory, neatly strung together and ready to play… as long as his fingers decided to listen.

Despite the previously broken hand, he had still played fairly well. The music sounded a little choppy and they had to stop for breaks more often than Emma had wished, but they were making progress. This gave her hope for David. They had both found out that his wrist was only slightly fractured, but he was told it would take a little more than 8 weeks to fully recover. Emma figured she could put up with Killian's company a little while longer.

Most days Henry joined them for practice, but others, Graham would offer to take him home or to the station with him. Henry had taken a liking to her boyfriend and told her that if he couldn't be a writer, he would be a police officer like him. It was nice to see him have a male role model, not that she wasn't good enough, but she didn't want Henry to grow up to become another Neal Cassidy. The world barely needed one as it is.

Her resentment towards her ex had not been lost on Killian who had begun to pick up on her hostility towards him after the second day of practice. Neal's calls had interrupted many rehearsals. Each conversation grew louder and shorter. It appeared that Neal would be gone for longer than expected and he wanted his father to look after Henry. So far Emma had been winning the arguments and kept gaining a few more days having Henry under her wing. She would come back into the room, pretend that no one had heard her yelling and pick up where they had left off.

Killian admired her resilience and her ability to compose herself despite how strong her emotions ran, and they did run. He found Emma to be a passionate individual. Whether it was about her son, her music or her love of all things greasy and filled with saturated fats, Emma fought for what she wanted and she fought hard. It was why they had made so much progress with their practice. She always pushed Killian further each day, to play past the pain. He hardly ever saw a trace of anger when she appeared after her heated calls, but when he did, the only person who could talk her down was Graham. Emma's anger would fade and she would fall into his arms. He wondered if he would ever find that with Regina.

Regina had come by a couple times to check in on them. She wasn't the jealous type, or maybe she was too busy to be one. Nevertheless, she didn't feel threatened that her boyfriend was spending so much time with a strange woman and let them tend to their business in private. It had become apparent to Emma that Regina had never actually heard Killian play the guitar before. Emma caught her wince when Killian played the wrong note, his hand growing too stiff from the hours of practice. She rarely offered a kind word. It wasn't that she was mean or uncaring, she was simply the type of person who wanted the best and nothing less. Needless to say, they were thankful that she rarely stopped by.

"So how long have you and the queen there been dating?" Emma asked one evening. It had been killing her to find out if there was any sort of foul play surrounding his hiring.

"If you want to know if there was nepotism involved," Killian echoed her thoughts, "then I can assure you we began seeing each other after I had been hired. It's been 3 months now."

"And you guys get along well?" Emma prodded.

"We get along just fine. It's not always easy. If you think I'm a serious bloke...well you know her."

"You mean she isn't the life of the party?" Emma teased.

This earned her one of Killian's rare smiles. "Anything but. Although, after a couple drinks, you'd be surprised."

"Is it true love?" Emma sang and batted her eyes.

"That's a thing of fairy tales, Ms. Swan. We want to see each other succeed. We try to make each other happy. We are very comfortable with each other."

"Comfortable? Love isn't supposed to be comfortable, you idiot. Love is supposed to be pain."

"Pain?"

"Okay well not the kind that makes you hurt or cry into a tub of ice cream, but the kind that makes your stomach twist into knots. Love makes your skin burn wherever they touch it. It makes you ache when they're not there."

"That doesn't sound healthy."

"Ugh you're so difficult. I don't mean it to be that you become codependent on the other, but without passion, you can't have love. Even if it's just a spark, that's really all you need."

"And I take it you share this with Officer Graham?" Emma's blush was all the confirmation he needed. "Then I'm glad you found your soulmate, but I'm sure you know that some people aren't that lucky. Sometimes it's enough just to share the same beliefs and a similar past. It makes things easier."

"Similar past? As in she was also in a band and grew up in England?"

Killian shook his head.

"You both know how to sail? You both have a leather kink? You—"

"As in we both killed someone close to us."

As soon as the words were spoken aloud, Killian froze. His stomach churned. He suddenly regretted everything he had said over the past few weeks. The music they played together had given him the false sense that they were close. Just because their instruments were in tune, didn't mean that they were. He picked up his guitar and began to play a scale. It was a futile way to distract his mind—and Emma. He missed a note and cursed, tossing the guitar to the ground.

Emma rested a hand on his. "Hey. It's okay. It's okay." Emma didn't know what else to say. She wasn't known for her gentle touch, or motherly instincts. All Emma knew was music and food. "Was it the boating accident?" She knew it was.

Killian looked at Emma's hand laid on his own. Although he had never mentioned which hand he had injured, she seemed to have known. In addition to losing his brother and father, he had also lost nearly all feeling from the wrist down. A car could run over his left hand, and it would have felt like a light squeeze. Somehow, he thought he could feel the warmth of her hand on his, but he knew it wasn't possible.

Killian looked up and into her green eyes. She seemed sincere and almost scared. Of what he did not know. Afraid that his breakdown would cost her a gig? Or was it that she was afraid of being close to a murderer? "My brother, Liam, rescued me from the crate, but in doing so he hadn't realized that to save one, another must take their place. Isn't that right?" He smiled again, but this time there was no light in his eyes. "The water was flooding in so quickly and Liam gave me his life jacket. The idiot. He was a weak swimmer. I could swim laps around him with a broken leg let alone a broken hand. He gave his life for mine. He had a girl, a job, a place of his own. He gave it all away for a broke kid in a band. And my father? Well dear dad, ever the fool, drank his life away shortly after."

"Killian," Emma whispered. That was the first time she had gotten his name right. Unfortunately he was in no state for a witty remark. "It's not your fault you know."

"Aye, but it is," he barked back. How tired he was of hearing that it wasn't his fault. "I was the one who didn't secure the supplies. If I had only acted responsibly we would both be here today."

Emma tried not to take offense at his hostile tone. She had never known her parents, had never known what it was to be a part of a family. She could only imagine the pain he was in. She squeezed his hand lightly, a gesture lost on him as he let himself fade deeper into his memories. It wasn't until she went in to give him a hug that he was shook from his nightmares, from the images that haunted him both day and night. He stood up suddenly and retrieved the fallen guitar.

"I think we're done for the day."

Emma stood with him and stared him down. He would have never brought his past up if he hadn't wanted to talk about it, to move past it in some way. She debated whether or not she should keep him talking but she knew that people dealt with loss differently. Some people cried and others...well they threw guitars and ended practice early.

"Ya," she agreed, "I guess we are." She picked up her belongings and hopped off the stage. "I'll show myself out."


	5. Chapter 5

**ES:**  how's it goin  
 **KJ** : Peachy.  
 **ES:** do u ever wonder y we say 'peachy'? whats so happy about a peach?  
 **KJ:**  Is this conversation going anywhere?  
 **ES** : business as usual i c. meet 6 for sound check.  
 **KJ:**  Okay.

After Killian's confession, Emma had decided to let him simmer for a couple days before reaching out. It wasn't that she didn't feel some sort of concern for Killian's wellbeing after such an emotional turn of events; she just knew that if  _she_  had dropped a bombshell out of nowhere like that, she would want to hide under a rock for a couple centuries. Emma would have given him even more time if it hadn't been for their show that evening. Mary Margaret had missed nearly every practice in the last two weeks to help her injured boyfriend and they needed to rehearse together at least once before their gig. Even though her friend had insisted that she practiced at her place during her time off, somehow Emma doubted it. She was the most motherly person Emma knew. David would have been all she had time to think about.

As her entire friend group consisted only of the members of Operation Mongoose, and Granny Lucas was home sick, Emma caved and hired Henry's nanny for the night. Tamara was a nice enough person who did her job well. Henry never had much to say about her. He would go quiet when she mentioned her name, but he didn't hate her and right now that was good enough for Emma.

Henry wasn't the only one who felt a little off about the woman. Whenever Emma had met her in the past she couldn't help but be rubbed the wrong way. She wondered if it had anything to do with the cute nicknames Neal would make up for her or the way his hand always lingered a little too long on the small of her back.

There was a knock on the door. Emma opened it to reveal Tamara with a grocery bag in one hand and a board game in the other. It would take a blind person to not recognize the woman's beauty. With her dark complexion and long black hair and the way she managed to appear taller than everyone despite being shorter that Emma, it was no wonder Neal had taken a liking to her. Emma looked down at her own ripped jeans and suddenly felt a little embarrassed.

"Hi Emma," she greeted as she let herself in.

"Hey," Emma said as she quickly stepped to the side to avoid being trampled by her guest. "Did you go grocery shopping?"

Tamara looked down at the bag she was placing on the kitchen counter. "Ya. Neal said you don't like to cook so I figured I'd prepare Henry something healthy and homemade for a change."

Emma felt her blood pressure rise. Leave it to Neal to complain about her even when they had long been out of each other's lives. She refrained from clenching her fist and instead smiled politely. The last thing she needed was to start a fight with the person who was looking after her kid. "That's sweet of you." She hoped the nanny couldn't hear the venom in her words.

Tamara returned her smile, matching its emptiness. "Don't worry. It's free of charge." She winked at Emma and turned to look for the knives.

Another jab. Of course Neal would talk about how she was scraping by in life. He probably had conveniently left out the fact that his father had been supporting him well into adulthood. Did she really think a no-name radio host from a small nowhere town made enough to afford two Mercedes? It left her wondering what else they had said about her behind closed doors. The next time she saw him, she intended to give him a piece of her mind, but for now she would try her best not to strangle the woman in front of her who was currently chopping carrots. Emma smirked.  _I guess Miss Perfect doesn't know Henry hates carrots._ She decided to keep that fact to herself and let her pettiness get the best of her. After all, Tamara was so amazing. Surely something as little as carrots couldn't make Henry hate her.

As usual, Emma was the last to arrive for sound check. Killian had seen her come in with her head held high, as if she hadn't been the one to call the early rehearsal and hadn't made him and Mary Margaret wait for well past 20 minutes for her to arrive. When Emma went to wave, he turned his back to her and began setting up the amps. Mary Margaret on the other hand gave her the welcome she was looking for and slipped off the stage to give her a hug. She looked tired, but she tried to keep up appearances. An empty can of energy drink was on the table by the stage, no doubt belonging to the drummer who had been addicted since she was sixteen.

"Hey, Mary Margaret. David." Emma greeted her friend who had been sitting by the bar. She looked down at his wrapped wrist and shook her head. "How's my favourite dumbass doing?"

"Better now that I can hear your sweet compliments again."

"Well if you like that, then just imagine what my beautiful singing voice can do for you. I bet your wrist heals instantly."

David laughed and then gestured to Killian who still had his back turned. "Not much of a conversationalist is he?" he whispered. "He hasn't said more than a few words to us since getting here."

Emma leaned in. "He's dealing with some things, but he's a good player. Let's just let it slide for tonight." A little louder she said, "I think Killian is going to give you a run for your money. You might be out of a job, Dave."

Killian finally turned around. Dark shadows lay heavy beneath his eyes. Compared to him, Mary Margaret looked fully rested. Emma bit her lip. How much sleep had he gotten over the past few days? From their previous conversations, she knew that he always had trouble falling asleep. With the recent confession, he must have been forced to relive the accident over and over again. She could only hope Regina had noticed and helped him out where she couldn't. After all, Emma wasn't his girlfriend; she wasn't really anything to Killian. Why then did she feel as if it was her job to help?

With a tone dripping in contempt, Killian finally spoke. "Let's get started shall we?"

Sound check had by far been the most difficult one to date. After the first few minutes, it had become apparent to everyone that Killian was not performing at his best. He was off beat and missed multiple notes. Even Mary Margaret had managed to nail her part despite recent events. Two songs in, he stood up and excused himself for a break, heading to the narrow corridor that led to the washrooms. He massaged his hand. The images that haunted his every thought had caused him to neglect his practice. As a result, his wrist had easily fallen back into its accustomed stiff state.

He looked down at his hand, his gaze following the winding path of scars that trailed from his wrist and wound around his fingers. He could almost laugh at the cruel perfection of this moment. Why should he be able to play for a crowd, something he had wanted to do since he was a kid? Why should he be able to finally feel joy from something in his life that he had chosen just for himself? No. The universe had thought it best for him to be deprived of any happiness. A broken hand for a broken man. The perfect punishment for his crimes.

"What use are you?" he growled, not knowing if he was talking to his hand or himself.

" _What use are you?_ "  _Brennan Jones often yelled during the weeks that followed Liam's passing. He always worked himself into this state when he was drunk and he was always drunk. "No school. No job. Just a kid with a guitar. Another mouth to feed. At least your brother could contribute to society and to this house. Don't you know we got bills? He was going to save us. But he's gone ain't he? You killed him, just like your mother and now you're gonna kill me too."_

_Killian narrowly dodged the back of his father's hand as it came down upon him. The same rant, the same resulting climax. He had learned quickly to avoid his father's blows. What the older man lacked in brains, he made up in strength. Fortunately, Killian was young and nimble. It wasn't that he didn't feel in some way to be deserving of the beating, but Killian rather enjoyed his handsome features and didn't need his neighbours to have another reason to look at him with pity. After being taken by surprise the first few times, Killian was soon able to anticipate and avoid each strike. He dodged to the left and ran out the front door._

_"Go on. Run." his father would yell from the porch. "You ain't good for anything but disappointment."_

Filled once again with the rage he had felt all those years ago, Killian slammed his cursed fist into the wall. It didn't even tingle. He hung his head low. Soon he began to notice the tiny drops of blood that had started to well at his knuckles. He didn't move to clean them. Instead he watched as the drops slowly trickled to the ground.

In his manic state, he hadn't heard the footsteps behind him. He jolted slightly when he felt a hand wrap around his. He looked up to see Emma whose sad eyes refused to let his look away. Slowly, she lowered his hand from the wall and pulled him into a hug.

Killian didn't know how long they stood like that, his chin resting on her shoulder, eyes closed tight. There were no words, just warmth and understanding. With each shallow breath he took in her scent. Emma smelt of lilac: heady and sweet. And suddenly he was remembering his grandmother's garden and the setting sun on a summer day. He remembered his childhood; one without his father's venomous words. It was a childhood filled only with the innocence of neither knowing nor caring about the days to come.

Killian felt the steady rhythm of Emma's heart against his chest and soon he found his own heart begin to match its beating. When he began to breathe regularly again, Emma pulled away. There was much she didn't know about Killian Jones. When he was ready to share, she would listen, but in that moment she had hoped it was enough to just be with him. She searched his eyes for answers and found that the storm within them had passed. His eyes had begun to resemble the calm blue of a lake in spring. Happy with what she saw, she smiled before heading back to the others.

She stopped briefly at the end of the hall and looked back to a dazed Killian who had yet to stop looking at her. It took him a few seconds before he managed to get his legs to follow her lead. They were heavy, as if anchored tightly to where they had both stood moments ago. Emma Swan had smelled of home and he wished he could have stayed in that moment with her…even if only for another second.

* * *

Operation Mongoose played perfectly. Not a single note was missed and the crowd thoroughly enjoyed the performance. Killian's presence in the band had drawn in a crowd of young women throwing a bachelorette party who had seen his pretty face through the window from across the street. Their cheers were by far the loudest of the night. The moment the band had finished, they swarmed Killian and demanded pictures. As they threw themselves at him, Killian looked like a child lost in a grocery store. His eyes darted from side to side as he searched for someone who could save him from the strange crowd. When they found Emma she simply laughed and shrugged. He  _had_  wanted to be a part of a band and screaming fan girls came with the territory.

Emma slipped past the women and met up with David and Mary Margaret at a table. Graham and Regina had managed to save them a few seats, which Emma gladly took and sunk into. She needed a drink—something strong.

"Whiskey or rum?" her boyfriend asked after planting a kiss on Emma's head. As he often did, Graham had read her mind.

"Surprise me," she replied and watched as he weaved his way through the throng of people surrounding the bar. When you were tall and burly, everyone seemed to move out of the way. Everyone except for drunken women looking for a thrill. He managed to narrowly dodge the bride-to-be, who, upon seeing a specimen such as himself, began to bat her eyelashes and flirt shamelessly. Graham looked at Emma and winked before turning his back on the lady who stomped her foot in mild protest. Emma laughed.  _God do I love that man._

At the same moment, Killian had managed to free himself from the bridal party with the promise of buying them all a round of shots. He couldn't deny that he was craving a drink or two himself. His fingers itched to put down one of the drinks the bartender was pouring in front of him, but he resisted. He hadn't touched a drink since he was living in England, and wouldn't begin now.

Graham sidled up to Killian as he waited for his order. "You know, you'd think that a cop would get priority service, but I bet there's more money to be had with a group of women looking to have a wild night themselves."

Killian gestured to the stack of bills he was putting down on the counter. "And it looks like it's all coming from my wallet too."

The group of girls cheered as they took their shots. Graham laughed and leaned against the bar. He looked back at Emma. She threw her head back with laughter, her golden hair falling in waves down her back. He could care less about the joke. For Graham, it was enough to see his woman happy and carefree. His chest swelled with love. "I'm gonna marry that woman you know."

A wave of indescribable feeling swept over Killian. He chalked it up to claustrophobia from the crowd around him, suddenly too large and too confining. He wouldn't recognize until much later that he had been jealous at the thought of Emma receiving a happy ending, one he knew he would never get. "I believe Ms. Swan would love that."

"You think?"

Killian nodded and thought back to their last conversation. "She talks of you without end. That's a woman in love if I've ever saw one."

"That's a relief to hear, Jones. She's a tough nut to crack. I can't always tell what she's feeling, but I know that being with her is the best thing that has ever happened to me." Graham turned to face the bar and reached into his pocket. He discreetly pulled out a small box and within seconds it disappeared back into its hiding place. "I'm going to ask her tonight."

There was that feeling again, as if someone had put a pin into his chest. He ignored it. "Anything special planned?"

Graham lit up and leaned in. "I bribed the guys at the precinct to sing a little acapella. Cheesy I know, but what's love without a little cheese?"

_They're a perfect match._ Killian extended his hand. "All the best, Officer."

Graham shook it enthusiastically. "Thanks, Killian. Keep an eye out on the mail. If all goes well, you can expect an invitation soon."

The bartender passed Graham his drinks. As he turned to head back to his table, a woman in a tiara and pink sash stopped him. She looked worried.

"You're a police officer right?" she asked and gestured to his belt.

Graham looked down and realized that even though he was off duty, he had forgotten to take his badge off for the night. "I am. Is everything alright?"

"We were outside waiting for our Uber and this guy starts talking to us. We didn't want to be rude or nothing so we were making small talk but now he won't leave us alone. He's getting pretty aggressive and making moves on Sarah. We told him to leave but he's refusing to go. I—I think he might have something in his pocket. Could be a knife or a gun but I can't be sure. Maybe his hands are just cold."

She laughed nervously. At the mention of a gun, Graham straightened up and returned his drinks to the bar. Even though he didn't have his firearm with him, he knew that a quick flash of a badge was often enough to deter most people from doing anything they would regret later. "Lead the way."

After he left, Killian took it upon himself to bring the drinks to the table. When she asked where her boyfriend ran off to, Killian explained and she frowned. Emma knew that Graham dealt with dangerous situations all the time but that didn't mean she wasn't nervous. She took a sip from her glass.  _Rum_.  _He always knows._

"It's one intoxicated man," Regina said. "I think your boyfriend can handle himself."

That was when they heard the gun shot. In that moment, Emma felt as if her soul had left her body and she was left on autopilot. People were falling onto the ground and crawling under tables. A voice was telling her to do the same, to get on the floor and hide. She couldn't hear it, didn't want to hear it. She had to know. She walked towards the door in a trance, ignoring the screams of the people around her and the calls of her friends begging her to come back. She pushed the door open, cold wind hitting her face, and stared at the scene before her.

The bridesmaids were crying.

A man was running down the street.

Someone called out for help.

Emma didn't take notice of any of these things. Her eyes were too transfixed body lying on the sidewalk, the body of her boyfriend. Everything blurred around her. All she could see was Graham on the ground with brown, unfocussed eyes staring up into the sky, fresh blood pooling around his body, and a little blue box beside his leg.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry!


	6. Chapter 6

He said he never wanted to see Emma Swan again and he got his wish. After Graham's death, Killian hadn't spoken a single word to her. Many times he found himself composing a text only to delete each word one-by-one. What would he even say? What  _could_  he say? Killian knew better than anyone that 'sorry' carried no weight when a loved one had passed. No amount of 'sorry' would cure Emma's depression or wake her from her mourning.

He remembered her scream. He remembered her holding Graham in her arms, her shirt soaked through with his blood. She had refused to part with him when the paramedics arrived. It was too late. They knew from the moment they stepped out the back of the ambulance and laid eyes at the body before them that there would be no saving that man, and yet Emma had continued to cling desperately to her lost love as if she could will his life to return to him with her embrace. She whispered his name as tears fell softly onto pale cheeks that had already gone cold in the night breeze. It wasn't until Killian and David had broken through the wall of onlookers and pulled Emma away from Graham's body that she finally dared to let go, collapsing into Killian as she died, her sobs muffled by his shirt. Hesitantly, he had let his hand find the space between her shoulders, pulling her into him. He turned her away from the sight and watched as they took Graham Humbert away.

Emma Swan had lost the man she loved and no amount of condolences would make the pain disappear.

"We should do something," Killian brought up to Regina over dinner the next evening.

Even though he wasn't the one who had just lost a partner, he felt as if it was selfish to go out and enjoy himself while Emma shut herself in her apartment. As much as he tried to find pleasure in the evening's conversation and atmosphere, Killian struggled to forget about what had happened, instead finding a new gruesome scene to play over and over again in his head.

Regina took a bite of her chicken parmesan and looked at him thoughtfully. His stomach churned. He had barely touched his plate. "And what is it that we should do, Killian?"

He shrugged. "We could bring her food? Isn't that what people normally do in these situations?" He thought back to when his brother had died. He and his father had eaten well for days after his passing. If Killian knew Emma, he knew that she was by far no chef and as simple a gesture as it would be to bring her food, it may be exactly what she needed during this time. If only he could bring himself to go visit.

"I suppose that is standard. I could bake one of my famous apple pies but that is as far as our generosity should go."

Killian looked at his girlfriend, dumbstruck. Both students and teachers alike had been heard calling Regina Mills a cold-hearted woman, a description she was living up to at that moment. He studied her passive expression. Where Emma had radiated a certain warmth and charm, Regina was distant and calculating. She never gave without taking in return.

Had Regina ever cared for anyone or anything other than herself? He knew she must have when she was younger, but even then, when her father was dying of leukemia with only Regina as a potential donor that the hospital could find in such a short period of time, she did not donate, too afraid of the procedure. When he finally passed, she always knew that it had been her fault, that she could have bought him more time if she hadn't been so scared.

Regina often spoke of her father and the love they had shared when she was young. Unlike Brennan Jones, who despised his youngest son after blaming him for the death of his wife during childbirth, Henry Mills was a loving and devoted father. Killian had often wondered if Regina's tenderness towards the Cassidy boy had been a result of their shared name and demeanor. If Regina showed any modicum of empathy, it was to Emma's son, and although she would never admit it, it was the reason why she had nominated Killian for the job of replacement bassist. Having Emma lose her job would mean losing a son and consequently, having Henry lose a parent. It was a pain Regina knew all too well. Her heart was not made of stone, she told herself. Life was just easier when you kept a distance from anything you could care about.

Regina studied her boyfriend's features and felt a twang in her chest as she realized he was looking at her the same way the students and teachers looked at her. Killian had known loss too and as he returned Regina's stare, he couldn't help but wonder if this is what he would become: distant and unfeeling.  _Or maybe it's what I've already become._

"We mustn't show preferential treatment to our students' parents," Regina offered in support of her previous comment. It was a futile attempt to put herself back in Killian's good graces. "It would send the wrong message."

"And do tell, Regina, what kind of message does it send when you accept their bribes?" He took a swig of his drink and placed it back down with a heavy hand. "Oh my apologies. I mean  _donations_."

Guests around them glanced over to piece together why the English man was starting to yell in the middle of their dinner. The rich always loved their gossip. Regina shot him a warning look. He hadn't realized he was no longer speaking at an appropriate level. His nerves were raw. He felt as if he had been seeing Regina for the first time.

"It's different and you know it." She took a sip of her wine, leaving red lipstick around the rim. "At least they're paying for their child to attend school and not riding on the backs of shady business owners."

"Emma Swan is our friend. We should be supporting her. She isn't some parent with a wad of cash burning a hole in her pocket that we can take advantage of."

"Friend?" Regina scoffed. "You've barely known her a few weeks and you're only going to know her a few more. What happens when that David fellow recovers? Do you really think that you will still be associating with her? That she'll still let you be part of that so-called band of hers?"

Killian didn't have an answer for her. He had never thought about what would happen when David reclaimed his place in Operation Mongoose. Being his replacement was always supposed to be a one-time thing, but somewhere between practices and late night take-out from Granny's Killian had let himself forget that his existence in Emma's life was only temporary. He could let himself believe that they would stay in touch to discuss Henry, but even that was unlikely. With Neal returning from work, Emma would no longer be allowed to pick up Henry. She would remain an emergency contact and knowing her son, it would be a number never used.

"I don't want to fight." Regina put on her best attempt at a sympathetic smile. "Let's just try to enjoy ourselves." She reached over and gave Killian's left hand a squeeze.

He looked down with a frown. He felt nothing.

Emma Swan however was feeling everything all at once. Anger, sorrow, hunger. Her stomach rumbled low. She ignored the feeling of emptiness inside her in favour of staring at her ceiling. How long had she lain in bed for? She tried to count back the days to the funeral. Graham's funeral. The funeral of the man she loved. Her body instantly became wracked by sobs. She slid deeper under the covers of her bed.

He was gone. She couldn't believe that he had left her and to go out a hero of all things. People kept telling her how sorry they were and how proud she should be of her boyfriend. He had died doing what was right and they should honour his memory. Even in his death, he still tried to make her a better person, still gave her something to aspire to become.

She hated him, she realized, and soon her sobs were replaced by yells.  _Bastard,_ she thought.  _Asshole._ She screamed into her pillow and kept screaming until her throat was raw and she had fallen asleep from exhaustion.

When she woke up, she reached beside her and froze. Waking up to nothing. Remembering he was gone. It had become routine with her, each day the same sequence of events. For once she was thankful that Henry had went back to stay with Neal who had promised to give her some space to grieve. Never in a million years would she want Henry to see her in this state. She grabbed her covers and was about to pull them over her head when she heard a knock at the door.

"Please go away," she whispered. She wasn't in the mood for more visitors and well-wishers.

A few more knocks followed, unaware of her silent prayers. When she didn't answer, her phone buzzed on the table beside her.

 **KJ:** Are you at home?  
 **ES:** maybe  
 **KJ:** I'm outside.  
 **ES:**  good 4 u  
 **KJ** : Bloody hell, Ms. Swan. Answer the door.

When Emma didn't reply, Killian continued to bang away at the door without end. "You unbearable woman!" he yelled to her, hoping that a more aggressive approach would rouse her. "Let me in, Swan or I will break this door down!"

He heard the unmistakeable sound of a door being unlocked. A blonde head poked out behind it. Emma's eyes were red and swollen. Their light had been snuffed out as if Graham took not only himself, but also the shimmering pieces that made her uniquely Emma with him as he passed.

"I apologize for the yelling, but I bring gifts." Killian held up Regina's apple pie. It was still warm and the smell of cinnamon wafted into the apartment.

Emma groaned, annoyed, and opened the door. "Put it with the others."

He stepped inside and looked to where her hand had lazily gestured. On her table were piles of sweets. In her fridge were casseroles and soups. Everything was untouched. He looked to Emma, whose hair was disheveled and greasy from days of neglect. A heavy blanket hung around her shoulders, donned like a cape. How long had it been since she last ate?

"If that's all," she mumbled, "you can see yourself out." She proceeded to flop down on her sofa.

Killian hadn't known what to expect. Her apartment was surprisingly tidy as if no one had been living in it. He glanced towards the room adjacent to the kitchen—her bedroom—and saw that it was the only lived-in space.  _She hasn't left her bed_ , he noted.

"So how are you?" he asked.

It was a stupid question. He knew she was miserable and yet he heard a quiet laugh from the pile of blankets on the couch.

"You really are an idiot, Jones."

"Well I suppose I picked the wrong profession didn't I? I'm a disgrace to my degree. Please tell Henry I'm sorry, but I will be resigning immediately."

Emma's laugh was a little louder this time. She pushed the blankets off her face and took a deep breath. "What do you want, Killian?"

She wasn't looking at him. She didn't want to see the pity that would no doubt be written all over his face. She had seen it too many times yet somehow she knew that if she saw his face looking like the ones of all those strangers from the funeral, she would lose it.

Killian didn't reply for the longest time. Emma had thought he had left her to wallow in grief but then she heard the clatter of dishes. She realized that he was still in the kitchen. The microwave beeped and soon heavy footsteps approached from behind. She turned to watch as Killian rounded the sofa and placed her guitar beside her. In his free hand was a plate of lasagna.

"Dinner and a show?"

"I'm not in the mood."

"One slice and one song."

"Then you'll leave?"

"Then I'll leave."

Emma sat up and took the plate from Killian's hand. It was hot to the touch. She held it for a moment longer, allowing it to warm her cold hands before taking a bite. As she did, Killian smiled her favourite smile. She was relieved to find that he bore no pitying expression, only one of understanding. Within seconds, the lasagna was gone and without a word, Killian brought the plate to the kitchen and returned with another piece which she happily ate to silence the animalistic noises coming from her belly.

"And now part two." He nodded towards the guitar, a flicker of mischief passing through his eyes.

Slowly and begrudgingly, Emma picked up her instrument. She sighed and began to play. She hadn't known what song her hands would choose to strum or where her fingers would decide to take her as they danced along the strings, but she played anyway. Each note wove into the next as the melody took on a life of its own with Emma as its conduit. It was a sad song, one she had never written but one she had known for a while. She had been writing it all her life. There were no words, just a steady rise and fall of the notes. She felt herself growing lighter as the emotions she had been keeping in were finally set free. Her fingers began to hurt from as the metal strings cut into them and still she did not stop. Not even when her eyes welled with tears.

Killian didn't stop her. He couldn't move. Her song sounded of loss: hers and his. In every chord and every rest, he could hear Liam. His brother sang to him and if he closed his eyes, maybe he would be able to see him once more like he did that night—the night following his death, when a vision of Liam had reduced him to a weeping mess and his father had called him crazy. His brother didn't want his murderer's tears. Killian hadn't cried since but as Emma continued to strum the final chords, he noticed dampness on his cheek. He looked up to see her staring at him, wide-eyed, her song finally over, the veil closed once more.

"I came to console you and look at me." He dabbed at his eyes and stood up. "I'm good for nothing. I shouldn't have come."

He made his way towards the door but was stopped abruptly as Emma's hand reached out and grabbed his wrist.

"Stay," she begged, her voice barely a whisper.

She pulled him onto the couch next to her and wrapped the blanket around them both. With her head on his shoulder, and his arms wrapped around hers, they both wept.


	7. Chapter 7

When Emma pulled up in her yellow bug a few days later, Killian felt his face flush. He hadn't expected to see her again so soon and was suddenly very conscious of the neon vest he was wearing to escort the students onto the bus. Yellow was not his colour. He ran a hand through his hair, smoothing down the strands that had fallen out of line. He could feel her watching him from the car as she waited for the bus to pull away.

With Neal back in town, he was surprised to see that Emma had stopped by but he couldn't deny that he was happy to see her—though his cheeks continued to become a deeper shade of red as he thought of that night. Had he overstepped? Had the comfort they sought in each other been merely an act of desperation after being in the world alone for so long?

Emma stepped out of the car and approached him. As she walked, her hair bounced behind her. He was pleased to see that it had been washed and—did it always shine like that? Did it always glow as if the sun was constantly shining on her? He smoothed back his hair again, as if he could brush away its darkness that threatened to drown out her light.

When she was in front of him, she simply said 'hey' and stuck out her hand to shake his. Killian couldn't help but feel disappointed at the gesture. It fell flat in comparison to the intimacy they had previously shared. Nevertheless, he gave her a quick and firm shake while reminding himself that he was a professional. In this setting, they were just another teacher and parent.

Emma tilted her head, her hand caught in mid shake. "You have a beard."

Killian released her hand as his own flew to his face. Sure enough there was stubble creeping down from his cheeks and along his jaw.  _No wonder the mothers seemed extra flirtatious today_. "I guess I forgot to shave. Regina will surely have my head for this." Emma's amused smile fell back into a straight line. A pause and then: "What brings you hear today, Ms. Swan?"

Emma stared a moment longer before lifting up the duffel bag she had carried from the car. She gave it a shake. "Henry forgot some things. I'm supposed to meet him. Have you seen him come out yet?"

As if on cue, Henry Cassidy ran out the front doors, his backpack bobbing behind him. "Mom," he shouted gleefully.

Emma smiled and bent down to pull her son into a bear hug. Henry had been dealing with Graham's loss better than she had expected. Over the time Emma and Killian had been practicing he had gotten close with Graham and she was worried that he would take the loss hard. Looking at him now, he hardly showed any trace of sadness. She was proud of him. Her childhood had been unpleasant, but what she wouldn't have given to go back to the childish innocence she once had where 'death' was just a word.

"What are you doing here? Am I staying with you tonight? Did dad go back to New York?"

"Sorry, kid, but I don't think your dad is going back anytime soon, so you're going to have to toughen it out a bit. I've brought you a few things that you left at my place."

Henry didn't take the bag. He didn't even look at it. He began to pout. "It's not fair. I never get to see you. Why can't you come stay with us? Dad's place is big enough."

Emma frowned. She hated having this conversation. It only reminded her of how helpless she was to Neal and his father. "You know I'm not allowed, Henry. You can thank gramps for that but you have my number." She cupped Henry's chin in her hand. "Call me anytime, Henry. I will always answer."

Behind them a car door slammed shut. Killian looked away from the mother-son scene and watched as Neal Cassidy strode over. He was wearing a long black coat with a blue scarf wound tightly around his neck. Standing next to Emma, Killian noticed a slight age difference between them. It could hardly be more than a few years, yet Neal's hair had already begun to spot with grey.

"Neal Cassidy," he introduced himself. As he extended his hand to meet Killian's, a silver Rolex peaked out from beneath his sleeve.

"Killian Jones."

"Ah so you're Henry's favourite teacher. It's nice to finally meet you. Love the vest by the way."

"Neal," Emma scolded when she saw Killian's jaw tense. In that moment, he wanted nothing more than to burn the blasted thing.

"What?" Neal matched the intensity of Emma's stare. "Can't I give a guy a compliment or are you going to turn that into a problem too?"

Before Emma could reply, Killian attempted to change the topic. "So what is it that you do, Mr. Cassidy? I understand your father is in the pawn shop business."

Neal broke away from Emma's stare and smiled. "That's right. 'Mr. Gold's' he calls it. He's a big name around New York but in all honesty that stuff is so boring to me. Definitely not the life I want. Although, it does have its perks." He glanced at his watch as if to check the time. It took all of Killian's power not to roll his eyes. "I actually work over at the radio station. Maybe you've heard of me."

The pieces clicked together as Killian finally recognized Neal's voice from one of those morning talk shows he always changed the station on. He never could stomach more than a few seconds of their useless jabber about celebrity affairs or which industries the millennials were destroying.

"I'm afraid not," Killian stated matter-of-factly, a smug smile playing at his lips as he watched Neal's eye twitch.

Emma snorted, finding satisfaction in the way Neal's face contorted. He was visibly distressed at this turn of events but tried to shake it off as best he could. "Well the people in New York have. They want to me to bring it over to the Big Apple. We're working out the details of my contract as we speak."

Emma turned on Neal. "You didn't tell me that you had a contract."

"And I'm supposed to tell you everything?"

"Listen, I don't care if you stub your toe or get a papercut, but if it something that means, I don't know, relocating, it's worth a mention."

Henry looked up at his parents, not fully understanding where the conversation was going. "Relocating?" he asked, his question falling on unhearing ears.

Killian shuffled, wondering what he was still doing there. This was clearly a conversation meant to be had in private. It was also one he wished the two parents would never have. Emma had just lost Graham. Was she going to lose her son too? He felt as if he should say something, to change the topic once more, but Neal had already bent down to pick up the duffel bag from the ground, signalling the end of the discussion.

"We'll talk about it later. Henry, let's go."

He didn't wait for his son to follow. He threw the bag into the back seat of his silver Mercedes Cabriolet and started the engine. Emma hugged her son and said her farewells. This was always the worst part: watching Henry hop into the car and drive off with his father. As they did, a little voice inside her whispered:  _Is this the battle you finally lose?_

"Sorry you had to see that." Now it was Emma's turn to be embarrassed. There was something different about having Killian witness her arguments with Neal firsthand as opposed to overhearing them on the phone. It felt too real, his presence a testimony to a battle she had long been fighting and steadily losing over the years.

"Not a problem." An uncomfortable silence passed between them. "He's a real piece of work that Cassidy isn't he? Do you think it's time to get a lawyer involved?"

"If you know one who takes IOUs, then I'd be more than willing to try."

"Alas, I do not. Though I'm sure it'll all work out." Killian had never been really good with advice and he wasn't about to start by pretending to know anything about custody battles. Although, if Neal had a steady income and a father with deep pockets, it didn't seem likely to him that Emma would be put into a judge's good graces. Of course Emma knew this too. It hung around them, heavy and frozen in the soon to be winter air.

Emma shrugged and rubbed absentmindedly at her arms in a vain attempt to keep warm. Killian watched as the light that had begun to return to her eyes slowly faded out. He could tell that she was going to retreat back into herself—and back into her apartment. He wouldn't let that happen.

"Do you want to get a drink later?" As soon as the words left his mouth, Killian realized that a bar was probably not the best place to take Emma—especially when her boyfriend had been murdered at one not long ago. He groaned inwardly. Why was it that wherever Emma was concerned, he always abandoned all rational thought? Once again he became hyperaware of his vest as it if were a flashing neon sign that said 'World's Stupidest Person'.

"I don't know if that's a good idea." She shivered and blew into her hands. A dark cloud formed in her head and she could almost hear her bed calling out to her, telling her to come home and to never leave again.

"Come on, love. I'm sure Mary Margaret and David would love to see you."

At the mention of her friends, Emma perked up. She had a faint memory of Mary Margaret tucking her into bed the night of Graham's death. She had promised not to leave her alone as she stroked back her friend's hair. Emma had fallen asleep to the sound of her humming and had woken up to the smell of bacon. She didn't remember how long she had stayed; all Emma knew was that she owed her friend an apology after having skillfully dodged her calls and texts every day following that night.

"Maybe."

Killian took it as a small victory. The irony of him seeking out Emma's company when a mere few weeks prior he would have done anything to never see her again was not lost on him. He had begun to get used to Emma and her carefree ways in the time since their first encounter. With a start, he realized that her positive attitude had rubbed off on him. His sleepless nights had been becoming less frequent over the past couple of weeks and he had noticed that he was smiling more often. It was as if they had swapped personalities—a poor exchange on her part—and he wouldn't stand for it. He had to get her spark back.

"Mr. Jones," a commanding voice called out from behind him.

Killian turned to find Regina standing at the door, arms crossed.  _The queen beckons_. "Keep an eye on your phone, Ms. Swan," he whispered conspiratorially before darting off to meet the principal.

"Mr. Jones, please follow me to my office."

_Mr. Jones_. The formality made Killian tense. He felt as if he was about to receive a detention. Despite spending many a time in the principal's office back home in England, there was something about being called to Regina Mill's office that made Killian nervous. Regina closed the door behind them, but not before he caught a glimpse of Mrs. Astrid's grimace as she made eye contact with him. He thought he could hear her say 'poor guy' as she walked past.

He took a seat in front of her desk, careful not to disturb the order that had been so carefully created. His leg began to shake against his will. Why did he feel so guilty? Did Regina know he had spent the night with Emma? Nothing had happened—or at least that's what he kept telling himself. They had cried, passed out on the couch, and woken up perfectly intertwined with each other. It was normal stuff really, he tried to convince himself, just friends being friends. The fact that he had never felt more comfortable or at peace in his life than he had in that moment, with Emma wrapped up in his arms, was beside the point. Surely Regina hadn't found out.

"Killian, can you please stop looking as if I'm about to tell you I ran over your puppy?"

Killian blinked slowly and forced his leg to stop its incessant shaking. "I apologize. Too much caffeine."

"You might want to switch to decaf." She opened her planner and turned it around so that Killian could have a better look. She tapped a square with her pen. "What does it say on tomorrow's date?"

He bent over and cursed under his breath. The school plays were being performed that day. He hadn't forgotten per se. The kids had been rehearsing for weeks and were as ready as they would ever be. No, that wasn't the problem. The problem was that he still had a stack of flyers and tickets that had not been distributed and sold to parents. He didn't even want to think about the set materials and props in his classroom storage that he had conveniently forgotten about.

"Regina, I'm so sorry. I can't believe I—"

"What's done is done. I should have been more diligent in my duties. It's my fault for volunteering you to play in that band. I should have reminded you but you seemed happier and I didn't want to take that away from you. However, once again I have let my emotions get in the way of my job." Regina sighed and clasped her hands together in front of her. "You know that we rely heavily on the sales from these performances to contribute to the extra-curricular funds. In all honesty, the sales are not great this term and without the revenue from your class, we lost at least another thousand dollars. I'm going to need you to call your students' parents tonight and try to sell some more tickets. They can pick them up at the front tomorrow evening."

"Of course. It's only fair."

"And you'll need to head over to the auditorium and help Mr. Thomas with the set up on stage. Ms. Boyd is under the weather and couldn't help with the preparations."

Killian glanced at the clock on the wall beside him. He would be there for hours.

Regina followed his gaze. "Do you have somewhere to be?"

Killian squared his shoulders and shook his head. "No not at all."

* * *

Emma felt guilty for even daring to look forward to a night out, not when Graham's death was still fresh in her mind. How long do people normally mourn for, she wondered on her way home from Castlespire. She still felt like utter crap, as if something inside her had been carved and hollowed out, and even though she was always mere moments away from breaking into tears, a little part of her thought that this would be good for her.

She waited a couple hours for a text from Killian that would never come. It wasn't like him to not be punctual, even with his texts. She picked at some leftovers and decided to text Mary Margaret who was over the moon to hear that her best friend wanted to go out. Mary Margaret confirmed the plans, adding that she hadn't heard from Killian either, and told Emma to dress nicely.

Emma stood in front of her closet for twenty minutes trying to determine what to wear. Usually she would throw on a pair of jeans or leggings, maybe a skirt if she had done the laundry. She glanced over at the pile of clothes by her bed—definitely no skirt. Tonight, the decision on what to wear was more complex than ever before. Mary Margaret hadn't told her where they were going, and she still hadn't received a text from Killian. She was going into the night blind. For some reason, she decided to wear a pale pink dress, the one at the back of her closet that had never seen the light of day. It was short enough for a sleazy bar, but conservative enough for a slightly high-end lounge. She pulled her hair into a ponytail, leaving a little volume at the front as she did, and slipped into a pair of silver heels. Her feet would protest in an hour, but for now they could suck it up.

Just as she was about to start her makeup, her phone vibrated. She practically leapt over her bed to answer and found herself disappointed to see a text from David telling her that they were a few minutes away. She sat up and sent a quick message to Killian.

**ES:**  u meetin us there?

Emma carefully applied her eyeliner.

**ES:**  hey did u throw ur phone away or wat

She painted her lips a soft red.

**ES:** if u didnt want 2 come out then u could have said

Just a little bit of blush.

**ES:**  this was ur idea u know that right?

She grabbed her keys.

**ES:** whatever. i don't need your pity. have a good night.

She knew she could have done without the last text, but Emma was angry. He was the one who had come over to comfort her. He was the one who had invited her out. The nerve he had to ignore her now after everything. It hadn't even crossed her mind that he could have been busy—or worse. Emma was suddenly too angry with Killian to think rationally. She took a deep breath and placed her phone on silent before tossing it into her bag, determined not to let anything get in her way of having a good time.


	8. Chapter 8

If you had told Killian Jones that part of being a teacher would mean spending over three hours of your free time after school to set up a poorly made set for a child's play with your only payment being a lukewarm bottle of water, he would have laughed in your face. Even though he made a fair wage, it wouldn't hurt to be compensated accordingly.

When he finally finished, and was able to escape from Mr. Thomas and his hundredth retelling of the time he met Danny Devito, he pulled out his phone to let Emma know he was on his way. That was when he saw her messages, each progressively getting more and more aggressive.

"Bloody hell," he cursed as he realized he had forgotten to press 'send' on his last text—the one that was to let Emma know he was going to be late.

 **KJ:** I am terribly sorry I thought I pressed send. I am on my way now. Where can we meet?

Killian nearly sprinted to his car in a futile attempt to regain lost time. Despite not even knowing where he was going, he pulled out of the parking lot only to hit 3 consecutive red lights.

 **KJ:** Hello?

She was ignoring his messages and rightly so. He felt like a complete idiot. Hadn't he been the one to suggest they go out? For a moment he thought maybe it was best not to go. Their relationship was beginning to become overly familiar. It would be better to stop seeing her outside of practice.  _Yes that's right. I won't go. She won't even notice. She won't even—_

 **MM:** oi mate. emma is being a jolly ol' pain. please save us.  
 **KJ:** Of course but only because you went through the effort of speaking my native tongue. Where shall I meet you?  
 **MM:** Blackbeards

Killian had never realized how run down The Rabbit's Hole was until he walked into Blackbeard's. The first thing he noticed was how  _clean_  everything was, almost sterile. The tables, the floors and even the walls were free of grime and appeared to have been freshly painted white. In the centre was a dance floor where many intoxicated women had begun to form a circle with drinks in hand as they swayed to the steadily beat.

The second thing he noticed was the people. Not a single plaid shirt or even jeans in sight. It almost felt to him as if he had wound up in an alternate universe. He was grateful to have such a strict dress code at work or else he never would have fit in.

The last thing Killian noticed was Emma Swan.

How he could have managed to miss the vision at the bar was beyond his comprehension. It took everything in his power not to drop his jaw and to remember to breathe as he took in the sight of what he could only describe to be an angel. It was many moments before Killian found he could move towards his friends, content to just stand there and take in her beauty for a little while longer.

David greeted him first, clapping his good hand against Killian's back. He was the only sober one of the lot—pain killers and alcohol did not mix—and a wave of relief washed over him when he set his eyes on Killian. There was a quiet desperation in them, almost pleading.

"David, you look like your dog has just been run over," Killian joked. Then he looked towards the girls beside him who were giggling and putting down shots as if they just found out that they only had a few more hours to live.

"They've been at it all night," David explained while shaking his head. "Ladies get half off tonight and they're taking advantage. They keep making fun of me. I feel like I'm in high school. They're a mess."

Indeed they were. The strap of Mary Margaret's dress had slid down her arm, her hair was mussed and her eyes were almost fully closed. At any given moment, Killian was sure she would pass out right there on the counter. Emma on the other hand seemed to have a stronger liver—or was better at playing sober—the only indication of her level of intoxication being her slow movements and flushed face.

Emma had noticed Killian when he walked in, as if she could sense his presence in the crowded bar. He looked the same as he had earlier that day minus the hideous yellow vest. She had to admit, he looked good, even with tussled hair and a grey dress shirt wrinkled from a full day's wear.

As more colourful thoughts started finding their way to the front of her mind, she turned away for another drink.  _I'm mad at him,_ Emma repeated over and over in her head until she was almost sure he could hear her. She had a few choice words for him, most of which would be too vulgar even for British standards.

She didn't need to turn around to know that he was behind them. When he tapped her on the shoulder, she gave him the dirtiest glare she could muster up, unaware that a drunk glare only made her give off the impression of being sleepy. Emma was about ready to start a fight until he smiled at her.

He was surely amused by her current state but there was no mockery in the way his lips curled at the side. No look of disgust as his eyes caught the soft glow of the lights, bluer than she had ever seen. Her breath caught. How could she be mad at someone who was currently looking at her as if she was the only person in the room?

When he took a step towards her, her heart skipped a beat.

"Emma, I am terribly sorry," he began. "I didn't mean to skip out on tonight. Regina got me to set up for the play tomorrow and make calls to parents. I texted you but I forgot to press 'send' you see."

"Of course," Emma huffed, crossing her arms as she did. It sounded plausible but she was still upset. "You made me wear a dress."

"Aye but it is a lovely dress."

His gaze wandered along her body, tracing her curves with his eyes, amazed at the perfection of it all. She was gorgeous. She was beautiful. She was—not Regina. He straightened up at the thought and suddenly took a great deal of interest in a spot above Emma's head.

"I hate dresses," she explained. "You owe me."

"Anything you want. Your wish is my command. Shall I buy you another drink?"

"No no no. I've had too many." She hiccoughed. "We're gonna dance."

"We're going to do what?"

At the request, Killian sought out David, this time it was his eyes that were pleading. However, David didn't even spare him a glance, too transfixed on the way Mary Margaret was nibbling at his neck.

_That bastard._

And just like that Killian found himself on the dancefloor, somehow right in the middle of it all, standing awkwardly as Emma moved her body in time to the music. She didn't know the song, she just knew she wanted to dance, to move, to get out of her own head and let the part of her that was helpless to the rhythm do the thinking for her.

"Killian you have to move," she shouted in his ear.

He couldn't hear her. The blood rushing in his ears was far too loud. Too close. Too close. Too—

And then her hands grabbed his and pulled them around her waist to rest on the small of her back. Her arms found their way around his neck and they began to move together. Killian hated to dance—he didn't know how—yet with Emma it came as naturally as if he had been studied the art all his life.

Her body was heavy against Killian's as she found herself too drunk to stand on her own, though she would never admit that she had let the alcohol get the best of her. His chest was hard against her body, and she let a few of those thoughts from before trickle in again. He felt safe. She wondered if he felt the same.

When she looked up at him she noticed his mouth was set in a straight line, his teeth clenched together. He was looking anywhere but at her, afraid of what he might do if he did, and as much as he tried to ignore it, he couldn't help but smell those damn lilacs.

"Try not to look like you're about to die would you?" Emma teased.

When he didn't respond, she pulled away. His body screamed in protest at the absence of Emma Swan, as if he were an addict being denied his fix.  _What are you doing_ , it seemed to yell at him.  _You bloody fool!_

Once again, Emma found herself angry with Killian Jones. Was it so horrible to be that close to her? Had she misread the look he had given her barely a few minutes prior? She stormed off to the washroom, searching for her phone to call a cab, giving in to the voice that called her to her bed.

She cursed under her breath. "A stick in the mud with a stick up his—"

 _15 missed calls_. From Neal, from Henry and even Tamara.

She ran into a stall to listen to her voicemail, every part of her mind that wasn't drunk began to panic. From what she managed to hear, Henry had run away. Something about wanting to stay with Emma and how he had snuck out of the house. Neal was yelling at Emma to pick up, to help find their son. She ran out of the stall, already dialling the number Neal when she ran right into Killian who recoiled away from her touch as if she was made of fire.

"Ms. Swan is everything okay?" he asked, registering the look on her face.

"Henry ran away. I need to go find him."

She made to push past Killian who moved in front of her.

"Let me drive."

"I'll call a cab."

"Emma," he said firmly. "I am driving."

She nodded, too scared to argue back, and headed towards the door.

The adrenaline mixed with the sharp sting of the cold hair was enough to bring Emma out of her drunken stupor, if only for a little while.  _Henry. Henry. I have to find Henry._  He wasn't answering her calls but she knew his favourite spots. She would search them all. She would find her son.

When he wasn't at the park, or the library, or even the 24 hour ice cream parlour, Emma began to really panic, allowing herself to think the worst. Where else would an 11 year old go? They decided to head to Granny's. Maybe he was waiting for her there. Poor little Henry, sitting outside in the cold. Was he wearing his scarf? Was he hungry? Was he—that was when the phone rang. This time it was Killian's.

"Regina? Now's not the best time. I—" He raised his eyebrow and looked at Emma. "Really? Yes we're on our way."

"Where are we on our way to?"

"Regina found Henry."

Fifteen minutes later they were pulling into Regina's driveway. The car wasn't even in park before Emma jumped out of the passenger side and ran up the walkway. She rang the bell repeatedly. When Regina opened the door, Emma pushed her way inside, not waiting for an invitation.

"You found Henry?"

Regina pursed her lips. "Good evening to you too, Ms. Swan. I found him on my run. He was attempting to feed a raccoon." As Emma opened her mouth to ask her where he was, Regina gestured down the hall. "He's in the kitchen, safe and sound with some hot chocolate."

Emma nodded and followed the direction she had been shown, eager to see her son.

By the time she disappeared, Killian had made his appearance at the entrance. Regina took in his dress: he hadn't changed his clothes and smelled faintly of alcohol, even though he didn't drink. The fact that he had come by so quickly and with Emma in tow—the same Emma who was dressed rather formally given her history of outfits—was not lost on her.

"Should I be worried about her?" she asked, her expression neutral.

Killian shifted his weight to one leg. "Worried about what?"

"Well it does seem suspect that my boyfriend was coincidentally with the very woman I was looking for so late at night and in such a pretty dress too."

"It's not like that. The band went out for drinks."

Regina raised an eyebrow. "Ah yes,  _the band_." There was a pause and then, "Can we expect her to come to the play tomorrow?"

She had meant it as a joke, an attempt to diffuse the tension, to change the topic anyway she could, but reading the crowd was not one of Regina's specialties. Instead of lighthearted it came across as flippant. Killian knew this of course and yet he couldn't help but feel bothered, unable to stop his next words from spilling out of his mouth.

"Always the same song isn't it?" Killian asked, his voice surprisingly calm despite the emerging feelings of disappointment and frustration beginning to bubble to the surface.

"Killian I—it was just—"

"A joke. Yes I understand that, but don't you ever get tired?"

Regina crossed her arms. "Of what exactly?"

"Of this façade. Of the distance you put between yourself and any sort of emotion? You do it with your mother, your students, me. Believe me, Regina, I know how easy it is to separate oneself from their feelings. It's addictive, to feel numb to any pain…but it's also exhausting. All this pretending that we don't care. Eventually we believe it and any attempt to feel falls flat. Kind of like…" He trailed off, unable to look Regina in the eyes.

"Kind of like what, Killian?" Her arms were still crossed, frown lines formed along her forehead as if she were trying hard to read his mind even though inside, she already knew where his sentence was going.

"Kind of like us."

The words hung heavy around them. The room seemed unbearably hot despite the door being wide open. Every part of Killian was telling him to run. To run away from this house, from Regina, like he had run away from England.  _When the going gets tough, the cowards get going._  He forced himself to stay, to look her in the eyes, ready to face the inevitable.

Her expression was unreadable. He wished she would say something, to tell him that he was being crazy, that it was a long night and that she loved him and that when they woke up tomorrow it would all be in the past.

"I see," she said slowly.

Killian deflated.  _I see._  They had spent nearly every moment of the last few months together. If they weren't working, they were eating and laughing, both forming a bond from the pain brought from the images of murderers they had constructed in their mind. Had they not loved each other at all? Was their relationship only worth an 'I see'?

"If you truly think this was all pretend, then let me bring you back to reality. You're a damn fool, Killian. I risked my job and that feels fake to you?"

"Yes your job. I know all too well about the job and how you blame me for the way you've been dropping the ball lately. Even when it's your fault, it never is. Just admit that deep down we both knew it wasn't going to work out."

"Did we now? I didn't know I was sleeping with a psychic but if that's the case then I guess you of all people must have seen what's coming next. We're done here." Her voice remained calm and matter-of-fact. She knew that things were beginning to feel forced between them but it didn't mean she didn't want to keep trying. If people believed her to be heartless then she would give them a cold-hearted witch. "We'll keep it professional of course but do not contact me unless it is for school related business and even then, the secretary is perfectly capable of passing on the message." She lifted up her hand to stop him from saying anything more. "I'll get Ms. Swan and you can both be on your way."

At the mention of her name, Emma ducked behind the entrance to the kitchen. She had heard everything.

The car ride back to Granny's was silent. Uncomfortably so. Henry fell asleep in the back seat as soon as he was buckled in and, after some persuading, Neal had reluctantly let Emma have him stay the night. As they arrived at her place, Killian offered to carry Henry up the stairs and into his room. When he re-emerged into the living space, Emma was ordering a pizza. He stood on the other side of the island, waiting for the conversation to end so he could say his goodbyes.

"You're staying for a slice right?"

"It's late. I shouldn't."

"Killian, it's not even close to midnight. Stop being a grandpa for one day and have some pizza."

"I don't know how you can even think of food right now."

"Hey, I burnt off a lot of energy from the last few hours. On top of that, I just like eating pizza at night. There's something poetic about it."

Killian chuckled. It was good to know her appetite had returned. He on the other hand wasn't hungry. In fact the thought of food sickened him. He was tired. The drive home was a long one and he had to wake up early for work. He should go. Instead he said: "Just one."


	9. Chapter 9

Killian found that sleep could not find him that night—and just when he had finally managed to correct his bad habits. He tossed in his bed, unable to stop thinking about  _her._

Staying for pizza: it was a harmless gesture. A little pepperoni and cheese wouldn't hurt anyone. And it didn't, not in the true sense of the word, although he would have preferred the fresh pain of his broken hand over the aching he felt elsewhere.

They stood around awkwardly waiting for the pizza, Henry snoring lightly from down the way. Killian should have left. Why didn't he leave? She offered him a beer. It wasn't her fault that she didn't notice Killian never drank. She wouldn't have known that the offer was for nought. She didn't even wait for an answer but opened the bottle anyway desperate to be doing something, anything but stand there in silence. For as much talk of being sober, her motions were sloppy causing the bottle to slip from her hands, its contents spilling over the counter and onto her dress.

"Shit," she cursed in a tone that already indicated her acceptance at this turn of events—the cherry on the top of her crappy day. "There goes this dress. It lived a short but good life. Toss me those napkins."

Killian passed the napkins over the counter and watched as she dabbed at the mess, unsure where to begin. It was a futile attempt and Emma knew it, the dress was far from rescuing.

She sighed. "Let me go change. If the pizza gets here just take my wallet."

Slowly but surely Emma stumbled down the hall. Killian took it upon himself to wipe up the rest of the liquid which had begun to make its daring descent down the cupboards and onto the floor. Emma had had a long day and could do with the extra set of hands. He yawned and made quick work of the spill. He gathered the beer soaked napkins and turned around to locate a garbage bin. That was when his eyes caught sight of Emma in her room.

She had managed to leave the door fairly, all semblance of modesty thrown to the wind. Killian couldn't help but watch as she leaned down to take off her heels, the collar of her dress hanging low in front of her as she did. With her back to the door, he watched as Emma began to step out of her dress and—was she not wearing a bra?

Killian quickly turned around, ashamed of what he had let himself do.  _Pull yourself together,_ he scolded himself before being saved by a loud knock on the door. He almost ran from the kitchen to answer it, thankful for the distraction.

Just as he closed the door Emma emerged in a pair of flannel pyjama bottoms and a grey hoodie making Killian feel even more conflicted. How was it possible that she looked even more beautiful?

She approached him, unaware of the thoughts running through his mind. With a smile she took the box away from him, their hands touching for the briefest of seconds. He followed her to the couch and, not wishing for a repeat of the last time he was sitting in the very same spot, he made a point to sit as far away from Emma as possible, a feat nearly impossible due to it being a loveseat.

Emma took a bite of the pizza, relishing in its warm, greasy taste. It was much needed feel-good food after the week from hell. She turned on the TV with her free hand and flipped absentmindedly through the channels, finally settling on 'Back to the Future'.

"I love this movie."

"I've never seen it before," Killian admitted.

It was as if he had just confessed to being the Zodiac Killer.

"Unbelievable! Aren't you 100 years old? Shouldn't you have seen it at least once?"

She reached for another slice of pizza and scooted closer to Killian to hand it to him. As she did, his leg began to shake without his permission. It wasn't the first time his body had betrayed him and he felt that with Emma Swan, it would not be the last.

Emma laid her hand on his thigh, a simple gesture really, meant only to still him, but causing Killian to freeze in place, every inch of his body suddenly tense.

"Are you okay? Too much caffeine today?" She was about to laugh when she took note of Killian's expression. His eyes remained focussed on the TV but they were unseeing. His face was flushed. "You look sick. Do you want some water?"

Killian shook his head. "I feel perfectly fine. Now tell me, who is this old man and why is he friends with that child?"

Ignoring his questions, Emma reached out and placed a hand on his cheek. "No you're warm. Like  _really_  warm. Are you sure I can't—"

The intensity of the look he gave her sent a shiver up her spine. There was no malice just something…else. A mixture of pain and bewilderment, his eyes searching for answers in her own. Emma couldn't help but feel naked under his stare—a vulnerability she had forgotten herself to be capable of. She wondered if he liked what he saw.

As if to answer her wandering thoughts, Killian placed a hand atop hers. It seemed to say:  _Yes. Of course. You're beautiful._ He had meant to move her hand away, to assure her he was fine and to tell her to enjoy the movie, but found that it felt too right on his cheek, against his beard, along his jaw. The thought of moving it away was too much to bear.

She was too close, always too close.

He wasn't fine. He was going crazy and that smell, that goddamn smell of summer was  _overwhelming._

And then his lips were on hers, gently at first, soft and sweet but enough to stoke the fire that had been building inside him.  _So much for cooling off_. A sound of surprise came from Emma but he silenced her once more with another kiss, all while some part of him screamed  _what are you doing_ and another telling him  _don't stop_.

Emma didn't pull away, instead she deepened the kiss. Killian felt her grip tighten on his collar and hesitated for only a moment before slowly parting her lips with his own. Emma let him, eager to lose herself in his kiss, and then…she didn't.

"I-i-im sorry," Emma apologized, hands on Killian's chest, not quite pushing him away but not quite bringing him close. "You're my friend. Friends don't kiss their friends. You just broke up with Regina and Graham…Oh god graham. I—" A pressure slowly built behind her eyes, tears threatening to fall as the realization of her betrayal dawned on her. "How could I do this to him?"

Killian found that there was more room on the couch after all and pushed himself against the armrest, willing himself to merge into the material. "No need to apologize love. It was me. I wasn't thinking straight. I overstepped. I'm not sure what came over me."

But of course he knew. It was Emma, and everything about her that had managed to fill nearly every one of his waking thoughts. He stood up and put his hand on the back of his neck. 'Friends'she had called them. Yes of course they were friends. What was he thinking? Just a parent and a teacher and nothing more.

"It's been a long week," she offered. A flimsy excuse, she knew, yet to acknowledge that the kiss had been born of anything but fatigue and emotions running high was too frightening a thought.

"I should be going." Killian fumbled in his pockets for his keys. "Thank you for the pizza."

"No don't. We can forget it happened. And besides, the movie isn't over."

"Let me know how it ends."

The drive home, he realized, was longer than it had ever been.

* * *

Killian knew that expecting Emma Swan to arrive at the school for her son's play was out of the question, and she knew she probably shouldn't go either. She could play the grieving girlfriend card and no one would bat an eye, but if she wanted to prove to Neal that she was serious about her ongoing custody battle with Henry then she would have to make an appearance.

With her only dress officially a mess, she opted to wear what she liked to call her 'boss suit': black dress pants and a black blazer. As she looked in the mirror she thought she looked a little like Regina. She couldn't help but laugh at the irony of it all. It was a good look, but every time she saw her reflection she felt guilty for making a move on her ex-boyfriend. What was worse was that they had broken up only an hour prior. She took a deep breath and decided to make amends, but not with Regina.

Emma made a visit to Graham's grave before stopping by the school, overcome with such immense guilt and feelings of betrayal towards the man she loved. If he were still alive, would he beat Killian up for touching his woman? Throw him in a cell and lose the key? Or would her gentle giant simply scratch his chin, sigh, and walk out of her life without another word?

Emma brushed her hand against Graham's picture on the tombstone and shivered. Winter was not far away and there she was without a coat in the cold, open cemetery. She could almost hear Graham chiding her.

" _Emma, do you have a death wish? It's freezing and you have no jacket."_

" _I don't need one. I have you."_

" _You are the most stubborn woman I know."_

" _But you love me anyway."_

" _More than you know."_

Emma closed her eyes and let tears trickle down her face. "I'm sorry, Graham. It's been what? A week? Two? And I'm already kissing other men." She choked out a laugh. "What would you think of me? Would you still be able to see the best in me?"

As she spoke those words, a gentle breeze caressed her cheeks, drying her tears. If she didn't know any better, she would say it was Graham, taking care of her even when he was no longer on this plane. And the thought, no matter how bizarre, brought Emma comfort. Somehow she knew that Graham, wherever he was, would forgive her if he hadn't already. Now if only she could forgive herself.

* * *

Henry performed magnificently. Granted, he only had three lines, but how magnificent they were. Emma was so proud of her son, who had written and performed in a play at the age of 11. She had been on the streets at that age, wandering, begging for scraps, for a home. She never thought she would be here, watching her son grow and achieve so much in so little time. She couldn't help but tear up a little and give a standing ovation.

"Emma," Neal scolded, tugging at her blazer, "sit down."

Apparently when your kid attended an elite private school, you weren't allowed to show that you cared. Nobody else had stood up. The rich parents sat in their seats applauding politely. Emma sat down begrudgingly and watched as a new set of students began their class' play.

As soon as every class had performed, Emma and Neal made their way backstage, scanning the crowd of children for their own child. There under a fake apple tree and standing beside Violet, was Henry. They were giggling, over the moon with joy from their 5 minutes of stardom.

"Kid," Emma called out and pulled Henry into her famous bear hug. She showered him with kisses. "Look at my little playwright."

Henry squirmed in his mother's embrace. "Mom!" He broke free and looked at Violet who was giggling even more than before. His face flushed deep red.

"You guys were amazing," Emma beamed at the two children. "How about some ice cream to celebrate? On me."

Henry and Violet exchanged glances. "Mr. Jones invited all the parents to come for snacks after the play was done. Can we go?"

Emma bit her lip. She wasn't ready to face Killian just yet. She looked to Neal, hoping that for once they were on the same page.

They weren't.

"Of course, Henry," he agreed. Emma sighed in defeat. "Lead the way."

Henry and Violet took the parents through a series of halls, following the sounds of conversation coming from their classroom. The two kids burst into the room ahead and made a beeline to the snack table.

Killian had done a wonderful job with the decorations. The class no longer resembled that of a prison. It was no wonder he had stayed so late to set up. A red carpet stretched from the door to the other end of the classroom where parents were taking pictures of their little celebrities. To the side, tiles were covered in laminated cut outs of stars with the names of all the students written on them, in a sort of makeshift walk of fame. Emma stopped to snap a photo of Henry next to his own star before letting him return to his friends—and the assortment of cookies.

In the corner of the room, Killian was speaking to the single mothers. From across the crowd his eyes found hers, just like they always did. Emma nodded in his direction, refusing to walk over and strike up a conversation.

"We should go talk to Mr. Jones," Neal suggested making Emma want to pull her hair out. "You know, thank him for putting this together."

"Ya, for sure."

"Mr. Jones," Neal called out as they drew closer to Killian.

Killian looked as if he had just been tossed a life preserver and excused himself from the group of fawning women. He offered his hand to Neal. "Mr. Cassidy." When he turned to Emma, he simply bowed his head. "Ms. Swan."

Oblivious to the exchange, Neal proceeded to make small talk. "Great job you did here tonight. Probably the best I've seen in the last few years."

"Well I can't take all the credit. The students were the true stars. They worked together so hard the past few months. They've gotten very close. Like a little family."

Emma looked towards the group of kids posing in front of the never-ending onslaught of cameras. They looked so happy.

"It would be a shame to see them separated."

She shouldn't have said it. It was neither the time nor place to bring up Neal's new job and what that meant for Henry and Emma. She should have just kept quiet, but that never really was Emma's strong suit. If she had something to say, she would say it.

"Emma," Neal said, rolling his eyes. "Now's not the time."

"It'll never be the time, Neal."

"Oh please, you just love a scene don't you?"

Killian stepped between them. "You know who really loves a scene? Bored housewives." He gestured to the women watching them.

Neal put down the finger he had begun to wave accusingly in Emma's direction. "You're right. And besides, there's no point to the argument. Henry is coming to New York with me anyway."

"Excuse me?" Emma felt her blood boil. This was all news to her. "And who made this decision?"

"How long are you going to keep fighting me, Emma? No judge would rule in favour of you and you know it. Henry is going to have me, my father, and Tamara all looking out for him. We have a nice two-bedroom already picked out."

At the mention of Tamara, Emma almost lost control. Did he really think that she could be a replacement mother? "And what about Henry's friends? You can't just take him away from them."

"He's young, he'll make new friends."

Killian coughed, allowing himself to interject. "I'm afraid that Ms. Swan has a point, mate. Studies show that children who are moved at a young age are more prone to developing anxiety given the stress that comes with the change."

"And you're a psychologist now?" Neal said smugly. "Please stay out of our business,  _mate_. I know what's best for my kid."

"You may think you do but if last night's scandal was any indication, it seems that Henry doesn't want to stay with you."

Neal raised an eyebrow. "Last night's scandal? How do you know about that?"

"Mr. Jones helped find me," came the small voice belonging to Henry from between their legs. No one was sure when he got there or how he managed to sneak up on them, but Emma was thankful that he showed up when he did. They wouldn't fight in front of the kid. They would just go home and discuss this later in private.

"Mr. Jones." Neal repeated slowly. "And what was Mr. Jones doing with your mother, Henry?"

Henry shrugged. "I don't know, but mom looked really pretty."

"Did she now?"

"We were getting drinks with the band," Emma answered. "He was there when I heard the news and drove me to Regina's."

Neal glanced between Killian and the mother of his child. "Emma, are you screwing Henry's teacher?"

"Neal," Emma hissed and covered Henry's ears. "Keep your voice down. It's not like that. We're just friends, but I hardly owe you any explanation."

Neal took no notice to the stares from the onlookers. He kept powering through, gesturing wildly.

"You see, Emma, this is why you can't be trusted to raise our child. My father warned me about you. I should have listened. It's sad really. Playing music in a dive bar, running around with our son's teacher for some cheap thrills. And after Graham just died. What kind of mother are you? What kind of  _person_  are you?"

Before Emma could say anything, Killian's fist had already made impact with Neal's face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Almost near the end!


	10. Chapter 10

To say Neal could take a punch would be a lie. As Killian waited in a holding cell for the officer to reveal his fate, he replayed the scene in his head. After a swift blow to his face, Neal fell down hard and heavy, clutching his bloody noise and cursing so foully it would make a sailor blush. It wasn't even broken, a thought that somehow made Killian angrier. If he had gotten in another shot…well it's a good thing Neal does radio.

A scruffy man with a thick moustache walked into the room and unlocked Killian's cell.

"You're letting me go?"

The man held the door open for him to pass. "No charges were filed. We would have kept you in for a night—you know to teach you a lesson—but Emma Swan vouched for you. Any friend of Emma's is a friend of ours. Besides, I've had the great displeasure of meeting Neal Cassidy in person. You've done the world a service."

Killian thanked the man and stepped out into the night, his eyes immediately finding a familiar face in the parking lot. Emma leaned against her car, shaking her head as he closed the space between them.

"Well if it isn't Maine's very own Rocky. Looks like I really am I bad influence."

"Not a chance. He had it coming. Although I hope it didn't make things worse for you."

"It's fine. I'll worry about Neal now. You've done enough."

They smiled at each other for a brief moment before Killian spoke again. "Thanks for putting in a good word."

"Not a problem, Jones. I'm sorry I didn't come meet you inside. I couldn't bring myself to—"

"I understand."

Emma stood up straight and sighed. How long would it be before she would stop seeing Graham in everything? She fiddled with her keys and said, "Well thank you for what you did back there. It was a stupid move, but I really appreciate it. I just hope it was worth the backlash you're probably going to face tomorrow."

Without quite understanding why, Killian pushed back a loose lock of Emma's hair, letting his hand rest on her shoulder as he did. "With you, Emma, it's always worth it."

Despite herself, Emma relaxed under Killian's touch, her own hand coming up to meet his. His words echoed in her head as she brushed her thumb lightly against his fingers. The same familiar tingling returned to Killian as she did, causing him to inhale sharply.

"How do you do that?"

"Do what?"

Killian didn't answer. Instead, he continued to stare at their hands in wonder as if seeing the sunrise for the first time. At the intensity of the gaze, Emma dropped her hand causing Killian's face to fall as she did.

"So do you think you'll lose your job?"

Killian reluctantly pulled his hand away and into his pocket. He shrugged. "It's possible, but since there are no charges, I'm probably looking at probation until at least after the holidays, if not until the end of the school year. By the way, do you know why Neal decided to back off?"

Emma kicked at a pebble. "Regina covered for you."

Killian raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

"She convinced Neal not to press charges by refunding him half the year's tuition." She shrugged. "The best way to heal is through money, I guess."

Killian grimaced. As much as he was thankful to Regina for saving him from a sticky situation, he would have never given Neal the satisfaction of walking away with more money than he ever deserved.

"A kind gesture on her part, but I'm sure I'm not off the hook yet. Since it's a private school, Regina has free reign over my fate and she does not give charity so freely. I'm sure she will want to make an example of me given the way things ended between us."

"Ya it didn't sound very amical."

Emma thought back to the night Henry ran away. She hadn't meant to eavesdrop. The conversation was loud and it just sort of happened. If she was Killian, she wouldn't dare step foot in that school again.

"No matter. I can always teach elsewhere if it comes down to it."

"And in the meantime you do have the band. We still have a few more gigs before David is back to his old self again. And then…"

And then he was free to go. And then they would go their separate ways, never to speak again. And then they would forget they had ever existed in each other's lives.

Killian didn't let her finish, afraid of what he might hear. He simply apologized once more for the trouble and wished her a good night, deciding it best to walk back to the school alone and retrieve his car.

* * *

Although each passing show had been laced with bitter-sweet sadness, Operation Mongoose had been performing the best they had in a while. On their last night with Killian, they had drawn in the biggest crowd Emma had ever seen.

As Killian packed away his guitar, preparing it for eternal hibernation, Mary Margaret raised a glass for a toast.

"To Killian Jones, our favourite Brit. Thank you for keeping us out of the streets."

She took a drink and then David lifted his glass with his freshly healed hand. "And to Emma Swan, our fearless leader. Good luck in New York. Operation Mongoose won't be the same without you."

He poured the remnants of his drink into his mouth. When no one had followed suit, he raised an eyebrow. "Oh come on. Are you really gonna let a guy drink alone?"

Killian stood there wide-eyed, not sure that he had heard correctly. Emma was moving to New York? The exchange of glances between her and Mary Margaret seemed to confirm what he had feared. He turned to confront her.

"Well I need to use the little lady's room." Emma forced a smile and excused herself, not even half surprised that Killian had followed her into the narrow hallway.

"Ms. Swan," he called.

Emma steeled herself and swivelled around. "What's up, Jones?"

"Is it true?"

Emma tilted her head. "Is what true?"

"That you're moving to New York."

Seconds felt like an eternity while he awaited her answer, afraid to even breathe lest it somehow make her decision any more final.

Emma bit her lip and averted her gaze, unable to look upon Killian's pained expression.

"Neal is taking Henry. I can't stay here while my son is so far away. He needs me."

Even though Killian knew that Henry was the most important thing to Emma, he still felt the sting of her decision, every word a pin to his chest as the realization dawned on him that this would be the last he saw of Emma Swan.

"We've been practicing nearly every day for the past few weeks. Why didn't you say anything?"

"Would it have made a difference?"

"Would it?" he challenged, praying she would say yes, to tell him that all he had to say was 'stay' and she wouldn't leave him alone again. "When are you leaving?"

"I need to use the washroom."

He stepped in front of her. "Ms. Swan. When are you leaving?"

"Killian, please."

"Emma," he half-whispered, half-begged.

"Tomorrow."

She could hear the sharp intake of his breath. He looked at her disbelievingly. She could feel his sense of betrayal radiating from his body. It was too much.

"I need to go."

She made a movement towards the washroom door, only to be stopped by Killian who had placed his hand against the wall behind her, blocking her path with his arm. If she wanted to get by him, she would find that she could do so easily, yet she didn't dare try. She stood there, heart beating so loudly she was afraid that he would hear. She was looking anywhere but at him.

"Emma," he whispered again, his voice breaking slightly as he did. Gently, he lifted her chin, making her finally look him in the eyes. His breath was warm on her cheek, their faces merely inches away. "You blasted woman."

And then he kissed her. She gasped against his mouth and shut her eyes. Kissing Killian Jones while drunk had nothing on kissing him while sober. With his free hand at the nape of her neck, he pulled her in closer to deepen the kiss. Emma felt herself melt into Killian and yet it wasn't enough. She wasn't sure it would ever be enough. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, pulling his body into hers. He made a surprised sound and then he slipped his hand down from the wall and around her waist.

Kissing Emma was like tasting heaven. Her lips, her jaw, the space between her shoulder and collarbone—the spot that made her breath catch when he brushed his mouth against it—it threatened to swallow him whole. When he dared to pull away, it was only for a moment, just long enough for them to take a breath. Her eyes were lit by their fire, his skin burning everywhere she touched. Did she know how she affected him? Was she aware that she had crept inside him and replaced each cell in his body until every inch of him was screaming:  _Emma. Emma_.

He kissed her again, chastely this time, afraid to break the spell she had cast over him. He rested his forehead against hers. "Please." And this time he was begging. "Please stay."

With those words Emma found herself waking up to reality with a start. What was she doing? She shouldn't be doing any of this. Her rational brain would agree, but with Killian leaving a trail of kisses along her jaw, she found it hard to stay focussed. She shouldn't be feeling anything for anyone, not when there was so much she had yet to resolve. Her life was a mess and this? This was complicated.

"What are we doing, Killian?"

Killian twirled a strand of golden hair around his fingers, mesmerized by the way it ran like water through his hands. He knew Emma was asking him something. By the tone of her voice, it sounded important and yet he found he couldn't concentrate on anything but Emma and the way she felt in his arms. It almost didn't seem real.

All too soon, Emma was pulling away, leaving him to stand in awe like she had before their first show. However this time, she didn't wait for him to follow.

Of course Killian did anyway. He had learned that he would follow Emma anywhere, if that was what she wanted. He trailed her outside, lifting up a hand to stop Mary Margaret from getting up and joining them. It wasn't the time for an audience.

Emma was a fast walker. It took Killian some effort to keep up the pace. They kept at it for a few minutes, Emma leading the way, winding through the streets she grew up on, alone and afraid, with Killian a few steps behind. This time she wasn't alone. Every time Killian's foot hit the ground was a reminder that he was there, but she was still very much afraid. Afraid that what she had felt with Killian wasn't just a fluke, that it was something that could very much be real.

Emma crossed the street, and entered the park they had been in during their search for Henry. It caused her to think back to the first time she and Killian had kissed. She had pushed him away, feeling guilty for kissing someone who wasn't Graham, and ever the gentleman, Killian had accepted her decision, taking the blame upon himself, unaware that Graham wasn't the only reason for her actions. She had wanted to kiss Killian, she just hadn't known it until that moment and the idea that there could have always been something there, slowly building all that time, filled her with fear.

Emma found her way over to a bench along the trail. Within seconds, Killian took a seat beside her. He was the first to speak.

"I'm sorry."

Emma almost laughed. He was always the one apologizing. "You didn't do anything wrong."

In fact, he had done everything right. She could still feel his kiss on her lips.

They sat together, watching the branches of the trees sway in the wind, the lamps lining the path casting their shadows along the grass. Emma clasped her hands onto her lap and allowed the cold air to wake her up from this dream. But Killian was still there. She took a deep breath.

"This is bad."

"Is it really that horrible," he asked, with hurt in every word, "to let yourself be kissed by someone like me?"

He didn't let himself speak the word 'murderer' aloud. He didn't have to because Emma knew what he had wanted to say and his question alone was already enough to make her heart break. She shifted in her seat and took Killian's hands into her own, finding the courage to meet his eyes.

"My life is complicated, Killian."

"Aye, it is."

"And this," she continued, "this is really complicated."

"Or is it the only thing that makes sense?"

Emma frowned, finding his words rung true. Despite a rocky start, Killian and Emma had bonded so easily, almost instantly on the first day they rehearsed together, joined by the music they played and a shared love for Chinese cuisine. She had never questioned it, never even gave it a thought, but it had been there, that kinship created by two lost souls with the weight of the world on their shoulders.

"Ms. Swan—Emma." Killian took a deep breath. "You? You are the only thing in my life that makes sense. I never would have imagined it. You were just some cute blonde who stumbled into my life—rather drunkenly I might add. And yet I can't escape the fact that ever since that moment I haven't been able to stop thinking about you." His finger traced an invisible path along her palm as he spoke, sending a small shiver up Emma's spine. "If I could go back in time and ignore your text I wouldn't. I wouldn't even let the thought cross my mind.

It's funny. I didn't think this kind of thing existed, and quite frankly I'm still a little sceptical, but you have bewitched me Emma Swan. And I know that you are probably worried that this is all too soon, that you and Graham, and me and Regina, that it's hardly fair to do this to them, but I am willing to wait, however long it takes. I don't expect you to reciprocate not now, maybe not ever. I just wanted to tell you before you left because the thing is, all those things you said about love? They're all true and I just didn't realize it…that is until I met you."


	11. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of a time jump but here we are at the end of the story. Hope you guys enjoyed!  
> Until next time...

Emma found it easy to become accustomed to the bustle of New York. The subway had taken some getting used to, but she made quick work of it. Her first few weeks had been filled with waiting tables and playing her guitar for the morning commuters. She didn't get the reception she was used to back home, but depending on the day, she would make enough extra money for some light shopping. It was exhausting and exhilarating all at the same time.

Perhaps the most difficult thing for Emma was having to spend Christmas alone. She had grown accustomed to Mary Margaret's annual Christmas Eve dinner over the years, erasing the memories of the winters spent on the streets. She had all but forgotten what it had felt like to be without family or friends. She was even deprived of seeing her son, with nothing but a brief phone call that morning to wish him well.

Neal had Henry for the holidays, a fact that she was not all too thrilled about, but she bit her tongue, not wanting to stir the pot with Mr. Gold who was watching her closely, ready to pounce on any mistake she made or inconvenience she caused. To make matters worse, a freak snow storm had shut down all of the airports in the area, cancelling all incoming flights from Maine and leaving her friends stranded back home. She had spent her Christmas eating a cup of ramen noodles on the floor of her far-too-small-for-the-price-she-was-paying apartment and hoping for a better New Year.

After a particularly long shift at the bar, Emma came home to find Mary Margaret and David at her door.

"Surprise!" they shouted in unison, brandishing two bottles of champagne each, ready to ring in the New Year.

Emma nearly tackled them on sight, feeling as if she hadn't seen her friends in forever. She quickly let them into her apartment, happy that the moving company had finally finished delivering all her belongings from Granny's.

"I can't believe you guys made it. How'd you afford it? I thought you couldn't get a refund on the tickets."

Mary Margaret smirked. "Let's just say I know a guy."

Emma laughed and poured everyone a drink. She turned on the TV to the first countdown channel she could find, taking in just how late she had come home. There were only 10 minutes left until the New Year and Emma couldn't wait.

As she stood around the coffee table, laughing with her best friends, she willed the timer to move faster, ready to be free of the last year of her life and all the struggles that came with it. Although she had to admit, it wasn't all bad.

With a few minutes left, Emma was already beginning to pour fresh glasses of champagne for her and her friends. They had a lot of ground to cover if they didn't want all the bottles to go to waste.

"Make sure you get an extra glass, Emma," Mary Margaret called from the couch where she had made herself cozy with David. She nuzzled her head into his chest.

Emma was about to ask what she meant when there was a knock at the door. She opened it and her heart nearly leapt from her chest at the sight of Killian. She was taken slightly aback by his choice in wardrobe, ditching his suit and tie in favour of a blue shirt and black leather jacket. She hadn't even known he owned leather, but she wouldn't deny that it was a good look.  _Yup_ , she had definitely rubbed off on him.

"How did you—"she asked in amazement as she pulled him into the apartment. Her hands flew to his face, her thumbs gliding gently along his jaw. She couldn't stop touching him, afraid that he would disappear if she did.

Killian kissed the palm of her hand. "Mary Margaret knows a guy?"

They both looked at the woman behind them who was smiling knowingly. "You better be quick. Fifteen seconds left."

Emma led the way as Killian closed the door behind them. She was about to offer him something to drink when he swirled her around to face him. A giggle escaped Emma as he did. It was a sweet sound, filled with a happiness Emma had never thought she would be capable of feeling again.

Ten. Nine. Eight.

Killian allowed himself to take a step back from Emma, desperately taking in all of her as if he had been starving for far too long. "Emma you are so—"

Six. Five.

Emma blushed and simply said, "I know."

Three. Two. One.

Without a millisecond to spare, Killian pulled Emma into him, kissing her more passionately than he had ever before, needing to be as close to her as possible. Everywhere their bodies met sent sparks across their skin. Emma began to push off his jacket when she heard Mary Margaret and David cheer from the couch, the abrupt noise causing the couple to separate with a start. Killian cursed under his breath, nostrils flaring slightly as he willed the other couple away so he could finally have some time alone with Emma.

His expression caused Emma to laugh. The sound was more beautiful than any song Killian had ever heard. He looked down at Emma, her face still cupped in his hands, and smiled widely, eyes lit in amazement at the picture before him. Words couldn't express how happy he felt in that moment and he knew that Emma felt it too.

"Unbelievable," he whispered, his thumb brushing lightly against her cheek. "I don't know if I can last until spring break to see you again."

In a surprising turn of events, Regina hadn't fired Killian on the spot. She decided to put his career in his own hands. He would take a pay cut to compensate for the money lost, that much was given, but the real choice he was faced with was whether or not he was willing to issue a public apology to Neal—and on his talk show no less. If he did, then he would be welcomed back with open arms after the holidays. If not, then his contract would be terminated. He only had a few more days to make his decision.

"Maybe you don't have to wait that long," Emma hinted. Killian raised an eyebrow. "Didn't you say you could teach anywhere?"

Killian's lips curled into a cheeky smile. He had predicted the conversation would take this turn at some point in the night and had already given some thought to the idea that Emma was forming in her mind. "I did say that, didn't I?"

"You did."

"I did."

Emma did her best to glare at Killian but it was in vain. "So maybe you should."

"Maybe."

"Killian, you make it so hard to love you."

"For that I won't apologize."

She rested her head on his chest and listened to his steady heartbeat, still not believing that he was there and that he was hers.

"So what do you think? Do you want to make the last leap into betraying England and become a New Yorker?"

Killian placed a kiss on Emma's head, breathing in her sweet scent as he did. "For you, Emma? I would do anything."


End file.
